


What We've Become

by HeavenlyDisaster



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2019-12-26 09:10:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 58,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18280109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeavenlyDisaster/pseuds/HeavenlyDisaster
Summary: Written primarily from the television show story line with a few nods to the books.  Gendry and Arya are reunited in Winterfell.  They were both presumed dead and now that they've found each other again the last thing is to lose them again.





	1. Dragons and Other Company

Arya had been walking back from the training grounds when the first dragon flew overhead.  A sight that would be burnt in her mind forever.  All black with red in its wings like the fire that lived in its belly was seeping out.  The second dragon was smaller, but no less exhilarating to behold.  She had turned then and made her way to the tallest bridge in Winterfell.

She could see the Queen’s caravan, but even from her perch, she was only glimpsing a portion of the armies.  Horse lords from the plains of Essos littered the fields with more horses than Arya had ever seen in her life.  Along the road, cart after cart of dragon glass was being wheeled toward Winterfell’s forge.  The only thing capable of killing the White Walkers beside Valyrian steel and good old fashioned fire.  And above the slew of soldiers, the twin dragons circled in big, lazy lopes.

Arya knew she should have been down in the courtyard with Bran and Sansa.  She was meant to be down there greeting their new queen.  More than that, she knew she should _want_ to be down there.  _Jon_ was down there.  She hadn’t seen Jon since he’d given her Needle and set off for the Wall.  But she couldn’t bring herself to leave the bridge.  To tear her eyes from the magnificent creatures that were long thought extinct.

She wasn’t sure how long she stood there, watching the dragons and eyeing the caravan, but the sun had arched its way high into the sky.  Footsteps crunched in the snow behind her.  She stilled.  She didn’t recognize the footsteps.  She kept her eyes trained on the swooping beasts, but her attention was now on her newly arrived company.

“Arya?”

She turned then, at the familiar voice.  His eyes were wide as saucers as he looked at her.  Arya took him in as well.  His hair was longer.  His face harder.  But it was something in his eyes that caught her interest.  He was different.  Different like Bran was different.  Like Sansa was different.  Like _she_ was different.  But there was more to him.  Something she recognized, but couldn’t place quite yet.

“Is it really you?” He asked, breathlessly.

She smiled.  She had to work to put the expression on her face.  Had there ever been a time when she had smiled with ease?  Jon had always been her favorite.  She should be grinning like a fool at the sight of him.  But too much had happened for her to smile so easily.  She had seen too much.  Lost too much. 

Jon didn’t seem to notice her struggle.  He crossed the distance between them and scooped her up into his arms.  He’d gotten smaller.  She noticed as he held her.  Or she’d gotten bigger.  She hadn’t thought so before, but she used to have to jump to put her arms around his neck, now she reached it with ease.

As if suddenly sensing Arya’s internal conflict, Jon released her and stepped back.  He was beaming.  Smiling with his whole face the way she should’ve been.  She mimicked his expression, forcing a lightness she did not feel.  One of the dragons screamed in the background drawing both of their eyes back to the sky.

Two dragons, she remembered why that was wrong.  The Dragon Queen was meant to have three dragons.  Three dragons like the Targaryen sigil.  One was missing.

“An army of the dead,” Arya said.  She had heard Jon and a small band of warriors had travelled beyond the Wall to capture a Wight.  They must be more fearsome than any of the stories would have her believe if they were capable of taking down a dragon.

“I’ll protect you,” Jon promised. “You, Sansa, and Bran I’ll keep you all safe.”

He didn’t understand.  She wasn’t asking for protection.  She only wanted to know what he knew.  He’d fought off the White Walkers more than once and he was still standing.  Still, Arya smiled at the sentiment.  It was easier this time.

“Maybe I’ll protect you.”

Jon laughed.  Five years before, even three years before, she would have gotten angry at his laughing.  Arya didn’t get upset when people underestimated her anymore.  She could always twist it to her advantage.  She could walk freely wherever she pleased and if anyone tried to harm her, they’d be too close to evade her blade.

“You should come down and meet Daenerys.  She’s nothing like Cersei, I promise.” Jon said after he finished laughing.

“Maybe later.”

Jon frowned.  The old Arya could never say no to him.  Poor Jon.  He still didn’t know that the old Arya was dead.  No matter how hard Arya was trying to revive her.

“You know, if you met her, she might introduce you to her dragons.”

Arya had to admit, that was pretty tempting.  She frowned out at the caravan.  The dragons were circling each other.  They were clearly missing their sibling.  They kept letting out terrible cries.  To anyone else, they might sound frightening, but Arya could hear the mournful sigh in them.  Below, the horse lords and Unsullied were setting up tents.  Winterfell wasn’t big enough to house them all within its walls.  Such a large sweeping army and they were all here for Daenerys Targaryen.  Arya turned to face her brother completely.

“Is that Needle?” Jon asked, nodding to her hip.

Arya’s hand dropped to the hilt almost on instinct.  She gave her brother a small smile.  She remembered practicing with Micah after Jon had given it to her.  She remembered her dancing lessons with Syrio after her father had found her with it.  She remembered spearing the stable boy through the gut after her father was arrested.  She remembered losing it when the gold cloaks had come for Gendry.  She remembered Polliver using it to kill Lommy.  Arya curled her fist around the grip.

“I’m not sure which gift was better; the sword you gave me or the lessons father arranged to help me use it.”

Jon’s brows shot up in surprise.  “And have you?  Used it?”

Arya patted the hilt.  Her expression darkened.  “Not as much as I would have liked.”

“We’re down in the hall,” Jon said after a beat.  “There’s a few more due to come back by tonight.  Daenerys’ general, translator, and our new smith are all down with the Dothraki now, but they should be back for dinner.”  When Arya didn’t reply, he turned to walk away.

“You’ve seen him.” She said, deciding on that look in his eyes.

“Hm?” He asked, turning back to her.

“The God of Death.  You’ve seen him.”

Jon paled.  His brow knit together in confusion.  “Who told you that?”

“It’s in your eyes.”  She decided against telling Jon about her time in the House of Black and White.  “I’ve seen that look before.  I knew a man who’d been killed and brought back six times by a Priest for the Lord of Light.  Who brought you back?”

“A Priestess called Melisandre.” Jon confessed.  “That man that was brought back six times wouldn’t happen to be Beric Dondarrion?”

It was Arya’s turn to be surprised.  “You’ve heard of him?”

Jon laughed again.  “I’ve fought with him.  He was with us when we went beyond the Wall.  The Priest who brought him back all those times didn’t make it, but Beric is here with us.”

Arya scowled.  “I’ll kill him.”  She snarled.

Jon put a hand on Arya’s shoulder.  “He’s a good fighter.  We need good fighters.  Whatever squabbles you have with him, stow them away.”

Arya huffed.  She could spare Lord Beric.  She didn’t have to like it, but she didn’t have to kill him.  The Red Witch wasn’t going to be so lucky.  Beric may have sold him, but it was the witch that killed him.  When she saw her again, as the witch had promised, it would be the same minute that Arya cut the woman’s throat.

She turned back to the dragons.  Jon stayed for a few minutes more, but left when he realized Arya would say no more.  She stayed on the bridge until the dragons disappeared from the sky, following the sun.  She wondered where they had decided to take up roost for the night.  Winterfell was not fit to house such large beasts and Arya knew of no caves for them to sleep in.

Her stomach growled and it would seem she could avoid it no longer.  She had meant to take a bath after her training session that morning.  Sansa had insisted that while she need not wear a dress, Arya must at least be clean for the Queen’s arrival.  Arya sniffed at herself.  She didn’t smell terrible.  Besides she had no intentions of getting close enough for the Dragon Queen to smell her.

Arya turned for the great hall.  It was time to go make nice with the Targaryen girl.

* * *

 

“Arya!” Sansa scolded in an impeccable imitation of their mother.  “Where on earth have you been?”

Arya stared at her sister stoically until the older girl folded and looked away.  Sansa was still scared of her though she did everything she could to hide it.  Arya knew just as she knew that Sansa truly had nothing to fear.  Arya could no more harm her sister than she could birth a dragon.

“You Grace,” Sansa said, addressing the woman to her left, “may I introduce my younger sister, Arya.”

Arya looked at the silver haired woman.  She’d heard tales of the Targaryens all her life.  How their beauty was otherworldly.  Arya could see now that those tales held true.  Daenerys was gorgeous.  She had creamy skin to rival Sansa’s.  No wonder her sister despised the woman so much though Arya knew it had to do with more than just her looks.  Sansa had wanted nothing more her whole life than to be queen.  She never would with Daenerys and her dragons around.

“A pleasure to meet you, Lady Arya.” Her voice was stronger than Arya would have guessed.  Strong, but undeniably kind.  “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Arya flicked her eyes over to Jon.  She noticed how close he was sitting to the Queen and remembered how he had called her Daenerys.  No title.  Arya bit her lip and turned her eyes back to Daenerys.  She smiled.

“I’m sure it’s nothing to what I’ve heard of you.  And, please, it’s just Arya, Your Grace.  I’m no lady.”

An amused smile danced across the Queen’s plump lips.  Arya couldn’t blame Jon.  Any man would find a woman like her irresistible.  What could it be like, Arya wondered, to wear that face?

“Do we need to make room?” Daenerys asked, unaware of the horrendous thoughts happening in Arya’s head.  She looked around the long table for a spare seat for Arya.  Arya looked beyond Jon for the first time and saw that she recognized one more person at the table.  Tyrion Lannister.

“No need, Your Grace, I am perfectly happy sitting down here.”  She gave a small bow and turned away.  She’d be asking Jon about the imp’s presence the moment they were alone again.

“Should’ve guessed you’d be skulking around here.”

Arya felt every muscle in her body lock up.  She turned her gaze up, up, up until she saw his face and could deny it no longer.  The Hound was standing in front of her.  The bloody fucking _Hound_.

“You should be dead.” Arya told him as if he had forgotten.

“He should be going hungry,” Jon muttered from his seat.  Arya looked at him curiously.

“How was I to know, eh?  You and your stupid mission.”  The Hound growled.

“You’re lucky Queen Daenerys was there to save our asses.” Jon snapped back.

“Not _all_ our asses, Lord Snow.”  Arya cast her eyes on Beric Dondarrion.  He smiled down at her.  “Glad to see you made it home safely, little lady.”

Arya scowled at him.  “Shame you didn’t have the chance to sell _me_ off, too.”

Beric opened his mouth.  Arya just knew he was going to give her more yarn about how it was for ‘the greater good’ or whatever.  Luckily, Jon stepped in.  Probably more to keep Arya from gutting the scoundrel in front of his new lady love.

“Lord Beric, could I see you for a bit?” Jon was around the table and ushering Beric away from Arya and out of the hall.

“Arya!” Sansa hissed at her.

She looked back at her sister.  Sansa swiped her hand through the air in front of her neck and mouthed the words ‘ _cut it out’_.  Arya rolled her eyes.  The Hound stepped around Arya and bowed in front of Sansa and Daenerys.  He may have earned his way off her list, but Arya still didn’t exactly _like_ the Hound.  He was the antithesis to her father in terms of what a man should be.  He wasn’t noble or refined, but he was alive.  She couldn’t decide if that made her happy or not.

“Where’s Bran?” Arya asked Sansa.

“Same place as always.” Sansa answered, bored.

Arya took a plate of food and sat down to eat.  The hall was brimming with people of all sorts.  She finished her first plate and went back for seconds.  She hadn’t thought about eating since seeing the dragons.  Now she couldn’t get enough.  She downed two glasses of ale and sighed, content only after her third helping.

Arya wiped her mouth and stood.  She had no desire to stay in present company any longer than necessary.  Jon was still away with Beric when Arya made her way back to the long table to say her goodnights.  Daenerys smiled at her when she approached again.  Arya forced herself to smile back.

“Are you leaving?”

“I have other matters to attend to.” Arya said delicately.

“Are you sure?  I would like to know you better.  All I have to go on are the stories your brother and Lord Tyrion have told me on our journey here and what little your sister seems to be willing to divulge.”

Arya eyed the imp who seemed entirely too focused on the plate in front of him.  Arya smiled at Daenerys politely.

“There really isn’t much else to know.”

“I don’t believe that.  You escaped a whole army of men when you were what?  Ten?  Anyone capable of something like that must have only grown more skilled.  And you carry a sword and a dagger.  I don’t know many women that do that.”

“Maybe some other time?” Arya said, desperate to leave the hall.

Daenerys’ face dropped.  “Alright, then.”

Arya gave a small bow to Daenerys and a nod to her sister before moving for the exit.  She only made it a few steps before the door opened and a small troop of people lumbered inside.  A dark skinned man with the grimmest face Arya’d ever seen stormed inside followed by a beautiful dark skinned woman and two soldiers.  The door shut behind the fifth person.

Arya’s heart stopped.  His hair was shorter.  Almost nonexistent making his ears stick out comically.  But it was him.  Arya gave her head a small shake.  It couldn’t be him.  The witch had killed him.  His blue eyes locked on hers.  His mouth fell open in surprise.  Then, a slow, delicious smile spread across his face.

He stopped a foot or two in front of her, still smiling that easy grin of his and Arya still couldn’t find her breath.  She watched every movement.  She was sure it was still loud in the hall, but her ears were filled with buzzing.  Gendry dropped into a low, ridiculous bow.

“M’lady,” he greeted.

Arya let out a small, strangled noise that seemed to start her breathing again.  Gendry straightened back up and looked at her with concern.  Arya’s whole body was shaking as she threw her arms around him, hopping up to catch him around the neck.  She felt a bit of pride in how strong she’d become when he had to take a step back to keep his balance.

“You’re alive,” she heard herself gasp.  “You’re alive.  You’re alive!  Gendry, you’re alive!” She marveled.

Gendry’s strong arms were around her, squeezing her like they used to.  She buried her face in his neck, surprised at the tears she felt on her cheeks.  She couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried.

“You, too, though it’s not so much a surprise.  You’ll be the only one of us to survive this mess.  I’m sure of it.” Gendry answered, still holding her tight.

“And you!” Arya argued.  She had him back!  She couldn’t think about losing him again, now.

Gendry set her down, keeping his hands on her arms.  He smiled down at her face.  His eyes were shining with tears, too, though they had not yet fallen.  He reached up with one hand and tugged the ends of her hair.

“Look how long it’s gotten.” He teased.  “You almost look like a real princess.”

Arya laughed, surprising even herself and reached her hand up to rub his nearly bald head.  “You’ve gone and cut all yours off!  Wanted a sneak preview of what you’ll look like in thirty years?” She teased back.  She hadn’t teased anyone in years.  She hadn’t laughed in longer.

“You come work a forge with hair like that, your head’ll catch fire.” Gendry told her, touching his head, self-consciously.

Arya was still trembling.  All she wanted was to hug Gendry again and never let go.  It was an insane desire.  There was an army of undead soldiers marching for them as they spoke and all she wanted was to take Gendry and disappear into the woods.

“Excuse me.” Arya looked up to see the dark skinned woman standing beside them.  “Queen Daenerys would like to speak to you.”  She told Gendry.

Gendry looked startled at the woman’s appearance.  He looked around, abashedly and nodded.  His hands dropped from Arya’s arms and he stepped away from her.  Arya’s heart squeezed.  She didn’t want him to be even one step away from her.  She fought down the impulse to cling to his shirt.

Arya shook herself.  It was ridiculous.  She was acting like someone gone mad.  She glanced up at Sansa who was giving her a smug little smile.  Arya scowled at her and turned her back, hurrying out of the hall and well away from Gendry.

So distracted was she, that she didn’t notice the drunken red haired man slumped against the stables.  She rammed her face into his back toppling them both into the mud.  Arya growled and jumped to her feet.  The red haired man didn’t stand back up.  Arya had a sudden fear that he was dead.  She reached down and pulled him up until he was sitting.

“Hey, hey, are you dead?” Arya demanded.

“Nnno.” The man answered.  “Not yet.” His eyes were shut and he was swaying.

“Can you tell me your name?”

“Tormund.” He hummed.  “You seen a woman around here?”

“Excuse me?”

“She’s a _big_ woman.  Like a bear.  Big, blonde bear.  Lovely woman.” He slurred.

Arya stood up and put her hands on her hips.  The filthy drunk was covered in mud and searching for Brienne.  She couldn’t even begin to imagine how Brienne knew this man in the first place unless it was through combat.

“Arya!” Gendry called behind her.  She yelled at herself to behave.  It was just Gendry.  She didn’t know why she was acting like it was a big deal.  He wasn’t a _dragon_.  He was just _Gendry_.

Just Gendry grabbed her arm and pulled her around to face him.  “Hey, what did you run off for?”

“I didn’t run off.  I was already leaving when you came in.” Arya told him coolly.

“Leaving?” Gendry parroted.  “Leaving Winterfell?”

“Leaving for bed.” Arya clarified, though she didn’t think she should need to.

“Oh.” Gendry tucked his hands under his arms and tried to hide a shiver.  “I just thought….”

“You’re the new smith Jon was talking about, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Gendry laughed.  “Well, there’s loads of new smiths right now, yeah?  The forge is being added onto as we speak.  Jon’s made me overseer.  Sounds like a good thing, but any mistakes in the weapons comes down on me now.”

Arya smiled at him.  “You can handle it.  You’re the best.”

Gendry smiled and looked down at the mud and snow at their feet.  He looked back at the hall when the door opened and a couple soldiers filtered out.  He cleared his throat.

“Surprised to see the Hound still walking around.  I figured he was good as dead the second you laid eyes on him.”

Arya frowned.  “Why would you assume that?”

“Well he was on your list, wasn’t he?  Joffrey, Cersei, Ilyn Payne, Meryn Trant, the Mountain, and the Hound.” Gendry recited.

“You remembered my list?”

Gendry chuckled.  “Arya, you must’ve recited that list in my ear a million times a night.  Sometimes when I’m working, I start saying it as I swing my hammer.  I heard Meryn Trant was killed in a brothel in Braavos and Joffrey choked to death at his own wedding.  You take out the Hound and you’ll be half through your list.”

Arya shook her head.  “I already took him off.”

“Why?”

Arya shrugged.  “I just did.”

“Well _some_ one oughta kill him after what he did North of the Wall.” Gendry grumbled.

Arya stared at him.  “North of the Wall.  _You_ went North of the Wall?”

Gendry smirked.  “Jealous?”

Arya smacked his arm.  “Idiot!”

Gendry laughed.  He nodded to the red haired man on the ground behind her.  “He went, too.  I think you’d really like it up there, you know.  It’s all wild and dangerous.  We were attacked by an undead bear soon as we stepped foot outside Eastwatch.  Oh, you’d love it.”

Arya rolled her eyes.  She _was_ a bit jealous, but there was something else.  She was angry that Gendry had risked White Walkers and nearly got himself killed _before_ she’d gotten to see him again.

They stood in silence for a bit.  There was so much to say between them it seemed neither of them knew where to start.  She didn’t know what to ask him first.  She wanted to know more about what happened with the White Walkers.  She wanted to know where he’d been all this time.  How he had survived the Red Witch.  Why he hadn’t tried to find her sooner to let her know he wasn’t dead. 

“What happened?” Gendry asked, beating her to it.

Arya looked up at him.  Searching for clarity.  Was he asking why she hadn’t chased after him when they’d tied him up and thrown him in the back of a cart like luggage?  Why she hadn’t fought tooth and nail to keep him at her side?

“When I heard about the Red Wedding – about your brother and mother – I kept waiting for news of you.  The Brotherhood was taking you to them and I thought if they’d taken you there, you’d be dead.  I thought, surely not.  Not Arya.  I didn’t know your brother, but I knew you and I thought maybe they could get the best of the King in the North, but not my Arya.”

“I got there in the middle of it all.” Arya told him, ignoring the thrill that ran up her spine at hearing him call her ‘his Arya.’  “I couldn’t do anything to stop it, but I saw.  I saw when they paraded my brother’s body around with Grey Wind’s head sewn on his body where his head should’ve been.  But the Freys didn’t know I was there.  They didn’t see me.  None of them ever saw me until it was too late.” She finished, darkly.

“That was you, then?  The Frey massacre?”

Arya scoffed. “Massacre.  They only drank poison.  It was a kinder death than any of them deserved.”

Gendry frowned.  “How many people have you killed now?”  The question was only curious.  There was no judgement behind it.  Not like when Sansa had asked.  Or demanded.  Arya shrugged.  “You don’t know or you don’t want to tell me?”

“I guess I just stopped counting.”

There was a pause.  The silence between them twisted in the air and threatened to strangle the very breath from Arya.  She didn’t know if she could handle Gendry being horrified by her.  Anyone but him.

“ _So_ unladylike.” He said at last.

Arya’s eyebrows shot up and she barked out a surprised laugh.  Relief washed over her. She pushed Gendry, lightly.  He caught her hand up when she pulled away and gave it a small squeeze.

“What about you?  I thought for sure that witch was going to kill you.”

“No.” Gendry said.  He flushed, curiously.  “She was going to, but she didn’t.”

Arya frowned at his red face, visible even in the low moonlight. Behind her, Tormund let out a laugh that sounded more like he was choking.  Arya looked down at him.

“She tied the boy to the bed and had her way with ‘im!” He crowed.

Arya looked back to Gendry for denial.  He only burned brighter.  Arya felt a crazy, jealous rage in her gut.  It didn’t make any sense, the jealousy.  The rage she understood completely.

“She put leeches on me.” Gendry muttered pathetically.

“She didn’t kill you.” Arya snapped back.

Gendry was quiet.  He shot a withering glare at Tormund on the ground who only laughed harder.  Arya was warring with herself.  She wanted to leave.  To go to bed.  But at the same time, she didn’t want to let Gendry out of her sight.  Not ever again.

Arya huffed and turned for her room.  Gendry’s hand shot out to grab her, but she evaded him neatly.

“Arya, come back!” Gendry cried.  “What about Tormund?”

“You like redheads so much, _you_ take care of him.” She lobbed back without stopping.


	2. Meetings and Reunions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon talks to Gendry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably some mistakes in here I didn't catch between writing it and editing it. It gets a little repetitive, but I wanted to show the reunion from multiple POV. Sorry! Next chapter moves on from the reunion I promise.

Sansa couldn’t believe her eyes.  Arya looked…happy.  She was smiling and Sansa didn’t think she’d ever seen her smile so wide even before King’s Landing.  Sure, she’d seen her sister smile since being home, but it was always that tightlipped smile that didn’t reach her eyes.  Or that grin of exhilaration when she was sparring.  She wasn’t sparring now.  Now she was caught up in the arms of Jon’s new blacksmith.

Correction, Jon’s _handsome_ new blacksmith.  Sansa would have to be blind not to see how attractive the boy was even under all that ash and grime.  She thought for sure if anyone were able to coax such a smile from her sister, it’d be Jon.  They always had had the strongest bond out of all the Stark children.  Instead, it was a complete stranger.

Sansa watched her sister flirt shamelessly with the boy in front of the entire hall.  They were only lucky Jon had left for the time being.  Who knows what he’d have to say about the two of them.  She wondered if Jon already knew.  Perhaps that was why he’d sent Ser Davos all the way to King’s Landing after him.  Sansa frowned at herself.  That didn’t make any sense.  How would Jon know anything about him?

Daenerys’ hand maiden or servant or whatever the girl’s title was, approached the smith.  It was like the two of them had been living in an entirely different world until that moment.  They both jumped apart.  Sansa watched the way Arya’s fingers reached out for the smith before she quickly hid them away.  She looked up and caught Sansa’s eye then.

Sansa fought down a grin, choosing to arch an eyebrow at her sister curiously instead.  Arya shot her a withering glare and Sansa had to bite her cheek to keep from laughing before Arya turned on her heel and marched outside.  Sansa wanted to call out for her, but that would be unladylike.  She would not embarrass herself in front of the Dragon Queen.

“Lady Stark, have you met Gendry yet?” Daenerys asked.  Sansa tamped down her irritation and put on her polite smile.

“No, I’m afraid I haven’t had the pleasure.”

Gendry turned his gaze to Sansa.  She watched his brows knit together in confusion.  Sansa knew that look.  She’d seen it many times before, but it had always been directed at Arya.  He frowned as he struggled to reconcile Sansa with her sister.  She sat perfectly still as he searched her face for the slightest hint at resemblance.

“Good to meet you, Lady Stark.” Gendry said with a small bow as he gave up his search.

“The pleasure is mine, ere, what did you say your surname was?”

Gendry glanced at Daenerys then at the floor.  He cleared his throat.  “Waters, Lady Stark.  I’m a bastard.”

Sansa’s curiosity mounted.  What was Arya doing laughing and crying and hugging a bastard smith from King’s Landing?  Sansa comported herself.

“Well, the pleasure is still all mine, Ser Waters.”

“Oh, I’m not a knight, Lady Stark, only a smith.” 

He was a curious man.  Any bastard would be please with a title even if it was only said out of politeness.  At least the bastards Sansa had experience with.  Jon had wasted no time in earning himself the title of Lord Snow when he joined the Night’s Watch and Ramsey had murdered his own father for his claim on the Bolton name.  It seemed strange to her that this bastard boy be so different from the others.

“From what I’ve heard, you’ve shown twice as much bravery as any knight when you went beyond the Wall.”  It was true.  Jon himself had told her if it wasn’t for this man, none of the men that went North of the Wall would have made it back.  Well, this man and the Dragon Queen.

“I didn’t really do much.”  He insisted.  Sansa stared at him.  She couldn’t decide if he was looking for more praise or if he was genuinely that modest.

“I hear you are a remarkable blacksmith.  I hope the work doesn’t become too much in the coming days.”  She expected him to boast now that she’d mentioned his trade.  All men liked to boast about what they were good at.

“I’ll have more help here than I did at my forge in King’s Landing.” Gendry told her simply.  He didn’t elaborate or embellish, just shrugged it off.  Even Arya boasted about her fighting skills.  Sansa frowned.  Arya hadn’t merely boasted, she’d proven it when she’d sparred with Brienne and won.

Gendry’s attention was slipping away from her.  She saw him look to where Arya had been standing twice, before she finally dismissed him to eat and drink.  She knew he wouldn’t.  She wasn’t the slightest bit surprised when she saw him slip back out of the hall in search of Arya.  Sansa hoped her sister wouldn’t make the search too difficult.

She decided to find time to question Gendry more thoroughly tomorrow.  Somewhere they wouldn’t be interrupted.

* * *

 

Gendry put off going to Winterfell.  He knew he’d end up there eventually.  He needed to use their forge to start crafting the dragon glass weapons.  But it was still the last place he wanted to be.  He chose to go North of the Wall rather than set foot in that place any sooner than absolutely necessary.

Now, he had no choice.  The castle rose on the horizon just as she had described it to him all those years ago.  The wind cut his cheeks and nose no matter how he tied his hood around his head.  It felt wrong to be there.  He’d always promised he’d go with her.  To be there without her settled in his gut like rotted meat and stale ale.

To further avoid the castle, he went with Torgo Nudho and Missandei to talk to the Dothraki.  Even the barbaric horse lords were preferable to his guilt.  The brutes sniffed around him like hungry dogs as Missandei translated what he and Torgo Nudho had to say.  He asked to see some of their weapons and one of the bigger ones stomped forward with his blade out, growling.

Gendry didn’t have to speak the language to know he was being threatened, but he had a job to do.  Missandei said something back to him.  Her voice was calm, never more than conversational, but the Dothraki man went very still.  The men behind him stilled as well.  Whatever Missandei had said shook them to their cores.

The horse lord handed Gendry his weapon so he could inspect the way it was made.  Daenerys and Jon had agreed that retraining a horde of Dothraki warriors on how to swing great swords would be a lot more trouble than simply smithing the dragon glass into weapons they were already comfortable using.

“Can you make it?” Missandei asked.

Gendry twisted the blade in his hand.  He ran his free hand over the curved blade, getting a feel for it.  He shrugged and nodded.  “Shouldn’t be too difficult.”

Gendry handed the weapon back to the Dothraki who snatched it from his hand and shoved it into his belt.  Gendry frowned.  The man acted as though he had greyscale.  Torgo Nudho looked impatient.  He spoke to Missandei in their mother tongue.  Missandei nodded.

“We go to Queen Daenerys now.” Torgo Nudho announced.

The trio tramped out of the Dothraki encampment to meet two more Unsullied on the main road.  Gendry dragged his feet.  He knew he was annoying his companions, but raw guilt was gnawing at his gut.

In the weeks Gendry had spent with Jon Snow, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to say her name.  Jon had been her favorite brother.  Gendry had been living the past few years firmly in denial.  She was alive.  He didn’t really care how.  His mind had fashioned up a million different scenarios for her.  He’d even slipped into daydreaming about being the one to rescue her.  He built himself a suit of armor and took his hammer and rode to the Twins and saved her before anything bad ever happened.

Gendry had to put all that aside.  He knew it.  But he couldn’t bring her up to Jon because he knew that would be the same as killing her.  As soon as he mentioned Jon’s favorite sister’s name and saw the way Jon’s face would fall, she would be dead.  Jon would tell her how no one had known she was there at first.  She had been mistaken for a servant or a stable boy at first, but they’d found her at last.  Dead like her mother and brother. 

Gendry couldn’t handle that.  He could hardly force himself to take another step towards her castle.  She wouldn’t be inside.  She would never walk this road again.  More than guilt, the fear of having his denial crushed was unbearable.  Once he walked into the castle, she’d be dead all over again.

Torgo Nudho pointed to the forge as they passed.  “That is where make weapons.”

“Forge.” Missandei offered.

“Yes.  Forge.” Torgo Nudho agreed.

Gendry was grateful for the noise of the hall then.  At least he wouldn’t be expected to say anything in response now.  Torgo Nudho and Missandei lead the way in.  Gendry lingered behind the two other Unsullied.  Their steps did not falter as his did.  He was going to meet her family.  She had always promised to introduce him.

The door slapped shut behind him and his breath caught in his throat.  His mouth fell open in shock.  He had no idea how long he stood there.  Her hair was longer and her face was clean, but it was _her_.  Alive.

He felt the smile on his face as he moved forward with no idea what he was going to say when he reached her.  No clue what _she_ would say to _him_.  Did she hate him?  Was she still angry that he had intended to stay with the Brotherhood before they’d sold him?  Did she even care that he was here at all?

He stopped in front of her, still searching for words.  She was staring at him with those wide, grey eyes.  Only one word came to mind.  He grinned wider and dropped down into his best bow, sweeping his arm out in front of him.

“M’lady.”

Arya made a sound that was somewhere between a sob and a growl.  Gendry straightened.  He tensed up, ready for her to hit him.  The air whooshed out of him as she slammed into him.  Her arms were around his neck, and he had to take a step back to keep them upright.  She was squeezing the life out of him, but he’d rather die than let her go.

“You’re alive.” She whispered against his neck.  She was crying, he could feel that much.  “You’re alive.  You’re alive!  Gendry, you’re alive!” Arya cried as if he didn’t know that.

 _Who cares about me_? He thought.  _You’re here.  You’re back home in Winterfell.  You’re in my arms again._

He had to put her down again.  He knew.  They couldn’t stay that way forever.  He kept his hands on her.  He couldn’t stop touching her.  He thought if he did, she’d disappear again.  He felt like he’d left his body.  Maybe he really had died North of the Wall.  Maybe this was what death was like.

And then Missandei was there, reminding him of his duties.  He had respects to pay to the Lady of Winterfell.  Reports to make to the Queen.  He turned away from Arya and fought back the urge to scoop her back up and carry her to the first ship to Essos.  Away from the danger and the responsibilities.  Just the two of them.  Together.

“Will you have any trouble making the Dothraki weapons?” Queen Daenerys asked.

“Making them’s going to be easy enough, but I have a feeling it won’t be so easy to convince them to use them.” Gendry told her.

Daenerys looked at Missandei.  “They prefer their steel.  They say they do not trust the weight of the black rock to make good weapons.”  Missandei reported.

Daenerys rolled her eyes.  “I’ll talk with them.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Gendry gave a curt nod.

“Lady Stark, have you met Gendry yet?” Daenerys asked the woman beside her.

“No, I’m afraid I haven’t had the pleasure.”

Sansa was beautiful there was no mistake.  Between her and Daenerys, they may have been the most beautiful women in Westeros and almost laughably opposite.  Daenerys looked icy and cool, but inside was warm and caring.  Sansa looked fiery and elegant, but Gendry could tell she was cold and calculating inside.  He handed that to her upbringing in King’s Landing. And still, he could find more similarities between the two ladies seated at the table than he could find between the Stark sisters.

Sansa’s hair was bright red while Arya’s was a nice, nut brown.  Sansa had blue eyes and Arya’s eyes were the color of polished steel.  Sansa was tall and lithe, Arya was small and fierce.  Sansa smiled without emotion, when Arya smiled it made everyone smile with her.

He realized too late that he was staring.  He hoped the ladies hadn’t found him rude.  He just couldn’t believe there was any relation between the Lady of Winterfell and Arya.

 “Good to meet you, Lady Stark.” Gendry said quickly.  He gave a small bow.  Nothing as lavish and over the top as he’d done to Arya.

“The pleasure is mine, eh, what did you say your surname was?” Lady Stark asked.

Gendry looked at the queen.  His true father had murdered Daenerys’ older brother.  He decided to stick with the half-truth.  No point getting himself fed to dragons now.  Not when he and Arya had so much catching up to do.  “Waters, Lady Stark.  I’m a bastard.”  Gendry confessed.

Lady Stark arched a thin eyebrow at him curiously.  He wished she wouldn’t.  It made him want to declare himself Robert Baratheon’s last surviving heir.  He wanted to wipe that superior smile from her face.  So she was raised in a castle and a palace and she had handmaidens and servants and had never had to work a day in her life, that didn’t make her any better than him.

 “Well, the pleasure is still all mine, Sir Waters.”

“Oh, I’m not a knight, Lady Stark, only a smith.”

“From what I’ve heard, you’ve shown twice as much bravery as any knight when you went beyond the Wall.”

“I didn’t really do much.”  Gendry told her weakly.  Sansa pursed her lips at him thoughtfully and then, mercifully, changed the subject.

“I hear you are a remarkable blacksmith.  I hope the work doesn’t become too much in the coming days.” Lady Stark praised in a way that sounded condescending to Gendry.

“I’ll have more help here than I did at my forge in King’s Landing.” Gendry replied, admittedly more briskly than he ought to have, but he was bored of her.  He wanted to get back to his conversations with Arya who had disappeared.

A panic started in his chest that he had imagined her.  She was alive.  She had to still be alive.  He’d just been holding her in his arms.  He started praying as he made his way to the door.  _Please let it have been real.  Please don’t tell me I’m going mad._

The second he glimpsed her standing by the stables, he thought he might collapse from relief.  He wasn’t losing his mind.  Arya Stark was alive and well.

“Arya!” He hurried over to her before she could sneak away again.  He reached out and took her arm for good measure.  Surely no imagined ghost could feel so solid in his hands.  “Hey, what did you run off for?”

“I didn’t run off.  I was already leaving when you came in.” Arya’s demeanor had shifted.

“Leaving?” Gendry’s heart was lead in his gut.  “Leaving Winterfell?”

“Leaving for bed.”

“Oh.” He tucked his hands under his arms to spare them the chill.  The way she had hugged him and cried into his neck had him thinking she was just as happy to see him as he was to see her.  Now he wasn’t so sure.  “I just thought….”

“You’re the new smith Jon was talking about, aren’t you?”  She asked, changing the subject.

“Yeah, well, there’s loads of new smiths right now, you know?  The forge is being added onto as we speak.  Jon’s made me overseer.  Sounds like a good thing, but any mistakes in the weapons comes down on me now.”

Arya smiled at him again at last.  “You can handle it.  You’re the best.”

Gendry let himself relax again.  She wasn’t going anywhere.  Why would she?  She was home.  Gendry could see her any time he wanted.  He could handle a bit of cold for that privilege.  He barely felt it anymore even standing outside in the middle of the night.  He told her about the trek North of the Wall and she told him about the Red Wedding.  How she’d managed to survive.  It was a little like one of his fantasies.  She had arrived too late and the doors were shut, but she was safe.

Then she admitted that she had been the one to slaughter the Freys.  Gendry knew she had become stronger.  Even if he hadn’t seen her with his own eyes, he’d know she was a practiced swordsman.  Arya and her water dancing.  But killing all the Freys at once?

Gendry frowned.  “How many people have you killed now?”  Arya shrugged at him.  Gendry frowned at the mud.  “You don’t know or you don’t want to tell me?”

“I guess I just stopped counting.”

How many people did she have to kill before she stopped counting how many people she’d killed?  How many people had tried to do her harm?  Or her family harm?  How much did Arya have to suffer that killing was just something she had to do?  And in the same vein, how unbelievably amazing was she that she could do that?  How long had she practiced over and over again until she was more deadly than a room full of murders?

“ _So_ unladylike.” He laughed.  Nothing like her sister at all.

Arya laughed.  She pushed his chest reminiscent of the way she’d shoved him the first time he’d called her M’lady.  She was holding back.  Gendry had no doubt whatsoever that she could knock him flat on his back if she wanted to.  He caught her hand as she pulled it away.  He hadn’t meant to, he just had.  He gave it a squeeze, pretending he’d done it on purpose and dropped her hand again.

It was a perfect moment until Arya asked about him and the red witch.  Melisandre.  Gendry fought a shudder.  He knew Arya had never liked her.  If she knew what had happened between the two of them, she’d probably hate him, too.  He decided to air on the side of caution.  The less he said, the better.

Only Tormund couldn’t keep his drunken gab shut.  Gendry wanted to kick his dirty teeth in.  Arya stared at him for a few seconds.  Nothing he said was going to make either of them feel any better.  He knew that.  Gendry glared at Tormund.  He was going to kill the Wildling the first chance he got.  Maybe the man would accidentally fall into the forge.  Who knows?

Arya huffed and turned for her room.  Gendry reached out for her almost instinctively.  He couldn’t be without her again.  He knew that much.  But she snatched herself away from him as easily as one might swat a fly and continued across the yard.

“Arya, come back!” Gendry pleaded.  “What about Tormund?”

“You like redheads so much, _you_ can deal with him.” She shot back without stopping or slowing down.

For some reason, even Arya’s anger relieved him.  She was just the same as she’d always been.  No matter what else changed, she was still exactly the same person he’d known all those years ago.

“You better watch it, boy.  Snow is very protective of his sisters, you know.” Tormund warned from the mud.  “And from what I’ve heard, that one’s his favorite.”

Gendry scowled down at him.  “Keep talking and I’ll leave you to sleep out here in the horse shit.”

Tormund choked out another laugh.  “Slept in worse places than this.”

“Gendry!” Jon called.

Gendry turned to see Jon walking over to him from the hall.  Beside him was a monstrous white wolf.  It had to be Ghost.  Arya had told him about the Stark children’s dire wolves.  Sansa’s had been killed on the way to King’s Landing.  Arya’s was somewhere in the woods.  But hearing about dire wolves and seeing them are two completely different experiences. 

“Jon.” Gendry greeted, not taking his eyes from the animal.

Jon put his hand into the wolf’s thick coat and gave it a pat.  It was almost eye level with him.  Its mouth was the size of his head.  Gendry was only thankful it wasn’t a dragon.

“Don’t worry about Ghost.  He isn’t going to hurt you.” Jon told him, reading Gendry’s mind.

Gendry nodded.  His eyes caught movement behind Jon, going towards the hall.  Beric was speaking with Ser Davos.  He looked over and caught Gendry’s eye.  An odd smile played on the man’s mangled face.  He hoped Beric hadn’t divulged anything of his and Arya’s entwined past to Jon.  He didn’t know how he would explain it.  Or explain why he hadn’t mentioned her before.

“Finished talking with the horse lords already?” Jon asked.  He released the wolf and clapped him on the back companionably.

“Oh, I mostly stood by while the queen’s people did all the talking.”  Gendry eyed Ghost as he moved over to sniff at Tormund still sitting in the mud.

Jon nodded.  “Have you been inside yet?  You need to eat.  We have lots of weapons need forging and not a lot of time to do it in.”

Jon didn’t seem to notice anything off.  He didn’t question him about Arya or even think there was anything to ask.  Gendry was relieved of that.  He got along with Jon well, but he didn’t want to put it past the man to defend his baby sister’s honor.  Undoubtedly, he would feel the need to if he ever found out that Arya and Gendry had practically lived together for close to two years.

“I was just in to talk to the queen.”

“You met my sister, then?”

Gendry’s mouth went dry.  Did he know?

Jon laughed.  “Yeah, alright, Sansa can be a bit difficult, but she’s a good girl.  Give her a chance to warm up to you.  She’s been through more than any lady should.”  _Sansa?  Just Sansa?_   “My brother, Bran, disappeared sometime this morning.  I thought he’d be at the feast, but it looks like you won’t get to meet him tonight.  And Arya, did I ever tell you about Arya?”

Gendry shook his head.  His heart was hammering in his ears.

“She’s very different from the girl I knew.  I think it might just be shock.  Nobody seems to know where she’s been the past few years or what she’s been up to.  Beric knows something, but he’s keeping it tightlipped.  Whatever happened between them set her off.  Anyway, I think she went to bed so you’ll have to meet her later, too.”  Jon smiled at him.  Gendry thought it was interesting that he was able to find more similarities between Arya and her half-brother than he could in her and her sister.  “Don’t worry, Arya’s much nicer than Sansa.  She doesn’t care so much about titles or where someone was born as she does about who they are.”

 _I know_.  Gendry wanted to say.

“You don’ wanna be telling him that.  This one’s been spending nights with your sister in his ear, Snow.” Tormund garbled from where he was slouched against the stables.

Gendry promised a slow death to the Wildling man.  Jon looked from Tormund to Gendry. Gendry gave him an innocent shrug.  Jon narrowed his eyes at Tormund.

“You keep your hands off my sister.” Jon warned.  “Both of them.”

“Not me.” Tormund argued.  “Him.”

Jon sighed at his friend and took Gendry by the shoulders to lead him to the hall.  Gendry looked back at Tormund, still on the ground.  Ghost stayed back by him instead of following Jon and Gendry and for that he was grateful.  “What about him?”

“Leave him.  He’ll either sleep there or he’ll crawl someplace warmer.  Either way, it’s not your problem.”

Gendry nodded and headed inside to eat.  It had been an eventful day.


	3. What She's Become

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya gets a challenger. Gendry gets jealous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad you all like this!! I hope I don't disappoint you in the future!! =]

The sun had barely risen above the horizon and Arya was already on the training grounds.  She loaded a straw dummy with arrows over and over until Brienne finally lumbered out into the yard.  Arya knocked another arrow, looked Brienne in the eyes and let it loose, knowing without a doubt that it would find its target in the cluster in the dummy’s chest.

She hung the bow in the weapons rack and walked over to her.  Brienne pulled her sword from its sheathe and stepped carefully around Arya.  Arya slid Needle from its sheathe and eyed Brienne.  Just as they had every morning since the first day they sparred, Arya and Brienne began to fight.

Arya was often jealous of her opponent’s size.  Brienne was no match for her as it stood, but she could only imagine how much deadlier she could be if she had Brienne’s height or her build.  Whenever Arya brought this up to her, Brienne would brush it off with some lament about boys ridiculing her or women sneering at her.  Arya couldn’t understand why that would matter when Brienne could easily kill anyone that offended her.

“You have an audience,” Brienne announced, panting.  Arya shrugged.  She knew they were there.  She’d known since they had first crept to the balconies and railings.  She saw the group of Dothraki hovering just to the left, watching with interest.  She saw Daenerys and Jon staring down at her from the overlook.  She saw the Unsullied standing stock still on her right.  She saw them all just as she knew it did not matter.

Arya bested Brienne for the third time that morning and sheathed Needle.  It was growing tiresome to spar with the same person time and again and yet no one else seemed worthy or willing.  Brienne had stopped holding back in their duels weeks before, but that didn’t stop Arya from becoming bored.  There was no relish in the victory.

One of the Dothraki on her left began speaking.  Growling might have been a closer word for it.  Arya looked the man up and down.  He was tall.  Possibly as tall as the Hound.  The furs he was wearing made him look all the more imposing.  Arya knew he was speaking to her from the way he stared though she didn’t understand a word he was saying.

Daenerys’ translator, Missandei, spoke back to him.  Her voice was steady and even, never raising or growing any sort of edge.  Arya wished she knew what they were saying.  She wondered if she might convince the woman to teach her the language.  She already knew Braavosi and High Valyrian.

The Dothraki scoffed at Missandei and started for Arya, pulling at the belt holding his furs on him.  Arya straightened her back, keeping her stance open.  Before he’d got much closer, Daenerys spoke from her perch on the balcony beside Jon.  She was speaking in the Dothraki language, but unlike Missandei there was an edge to her voice.  The Dothraki man froze and true fear blossomed in his eyes.  Arya had to wonder what Queen Daenerys could have possibly done to inspire such a reaction from a man like that.

“What are they saying?” Arya asked Missandei, but the woman seemed focused on the conversation between her queen and the warrior.

“He wishes to fight you, Lady Arya.” A man announced.  Arya looked at him.  He was older.  Arya guessed he might have been her father’s age.  Dressed in plate armor.  He was from Westeros, she had no doubt.  Arya eyed him skeptically.  How would this Westerosi man know the Dothraki tongue?  “Queen Daenerys has told him no.”

“Why?”

“The Dothraki are not known for their restraint.  Or their cool tempers.  Often times they do not stop fighting until someone is dead.”  Arya’s eyes lit up. _Sounds exhilarating._

“You’re Jorah Mormont.” Brienne said behind her.

“I am, my lady.”

Brienne scoffed at the title, but Arya recognized the name.  Her father had exiled him to Essos. That explained how he knew the language.

“I’d like to fight him.” Arya said.  Her curiosity and courage knew no bounds.  _Will this man kill me?  Is today the day I meet the God of Death?_

“That would be unwise.” Daenerys told her from the balcony.  Jon stood beside her looking like his heart might stop.

“Some might say I’ve done many unwise things, Your Grace.  I’ve always learned from them.”

Daenerys stared down at her.  A curious look played on her face.  She tilted her head to the side.  She gave a sigh and a small shake of her head.

“You’ll need a braid.” She said, decisively.

“Why?” Arya asked at the same time Jon screeched;

“ _What_?”

Daenerys ignored Jon, addressing Arya’s question.  “When a Dothraki is defeated in battle, they cut off their braid.  If you spar with him, the match will end when someone’s braid is cut.  No longer.”  Daenerys turned her steely gaze on the Dothraki man and repeated herself in Dothraki.

“You can’t be serious!” Jon argued.  “What if she gets hurt?”

Daenerys turned her cool gaze on Jon.  “Do you really think it matters if you agree to this or not?  Your sister is a warrior.  And she is determined to test her metal against him.  Letting them duel here with these rules set out is the surest way to avoid any casualties.”

Someone’s hands were in Arya’s hair, pulling it back in quick, practiced movements.

“She is _not_ fighting a man twice her size!  She’ll be killed.” Jon argued.

“Lady Brienne is twice her size.  She seemed to fair just as well against her.”

“Yeah, but she’s a –”

“Yes?” Daenerys challenged.  Jon bit his tongue.  Arya found herself grinning.  She liked this Dragon Queen immensely.

Arya turned her head to see Missandei stepping back from her.  A short braid hung to just between her shoulder blades.  Arya inclined her head in thanks to the woman.  She faced her opponent again.

The Dothraki shucked his furs, baring his chest to her.  He pulled a curved blade from his belt and pointed it at her.  He growled something at her in his language as he paced around her.  Arya didn’t have to speak the language.  From the way he was leering, she knew he’d gone and said something to the effect of ‘fucking her bloody.’

“You should know, all the men who’ve said those sorts of things to me are dead now.”  She told him evenly.  “I killed one with this very sword.”  She patted Needle on her hip.  Still, she did not draw a weapon.

Arya knew he did not understand her.  Just as she did not understand him.  She hoped he was as good at inferring as she was.  She wanted him to know what he was in for.  Or maybe she just wanted him to keep underestimating her.  Just like Jon and Sansa and all the men she’d killed had underestimated her.

All at once, the man lunged for her swinging his hooked blade.  Arya danced away from him with ease.  She was up on her toes, stepping this way and that avoiding the erratic swing of his blade.  He reached out for her with his free hand, but she twisted away.  This went on for a few minutes until Arya saw her opening.  The Dothraki was so plainly inexperienced with fighting someone so much smaller than him.

Arya ducked his blade and dove between his spread legs.  She stood up behind him, drawing her dagger and grabbing his long, black braid in one swift movement.  The man turned on her and swung his blade again.  Arya rolled out of the way and held up the braid that had come off in her hand.

It was like waving a flag before a bull.  The Dothraki gave a great, indignant bellow and charged her, swinging his blade madly.  Arya could hear people yelling at him to stop, but the man was beyond reason.  He’d been bested by a girl.  Men like him did not take that lightly.

Arya dodged his attacks again and again.  They were coming faster now.  The Dothraki seemed out of his mind with rage.  She had thought to simply let him tire himself out and be done with it.  Then his blade caught her left arm and she gave a short cry of surprise and pain.  Arya would evade no more.

She found her way behind him again and withdrew Needle from its sheathe.  She speared him through the back, pushing Needle all the way through and into his heart.  She pulled her blade from his body and watched.  He swung his sword once more, weakly, before falling onto his face and moving no more.  _Not today_.

Arya looked to the other Dothraki, waiting for them to avenge their fallen friend.  Instead, they sneered at the man’s corpse and turned away.  When no one else came forward to challenge her, she walked calmly to the weapons rack.  The crowd that had gathered to watch the fight took great steps back, eyeing her warily.  Arya ignored them and snatched a cloth from the rack.  She set to cleaning the Dothraki’s blood from her blade.

Arya looked back at the warrior’s corpse.  She could think of a million uses for that face.  Her eyes flicked up to the Dragon Queen.  She was frowning, but she didn’t look upset at Arya’s actions.  Beside her, Jon had gone as pale as Ghost.  Arya looked back at her blade to be sure she had gotten all the blood off before sheathing it.

Judging from Daenerys’ expression, Arya had managed to impress her.  Still, Arya knew that didn’t mean she wouldn’t be completely against what Arya had planned for her opponent’s body.  Both Jon and the Dragon Queen turned from the balcony and strode into the castle.  The Dothraki was still dead in the yard.  What they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.

“Did you know you were going to kill him before the match?”

Arya turned and looked at Gendry.  She still couldn’t quite believe he was really there.  She frowned at him.

“No.  It wasn’t a plan.  If you’d been watching you’d have seen it was him or me.” Arya huffed.  “I’d already won.  If he hadn’t kept at me, he’d still be alive.”

Gendry nodded.  He didn’t look afraid or threatened like everybody else did.  He only looked vaguely concerned.  He nodded down at her.

“How’s your arm?”

Arya pulled apart the cut fabric to examine her wound.  It didn’t look deep, but it was long.  Gendry hissed in a breath through his teeth.

“Does it hurt?”

Arya frowned up at him.  When she didn’t answer, Gendry grabbed her arm to inspect the wound himself.

“And you call me an idiot.” He muttered.

“You _are_ an idiot.”

“Least I’m not running around fighting horse lords.”

“Just undead bears.”

“It was Jaqen, wasn’t it?” Gendry asked out of the blue.

“What?”

“Jaqen H’ghar.  You went with him, didn’t you?”

Arya slipped her arm out of Gendry’s hands.  What was he looking for?  Guilt?  Shame?  Remorse?  He wouldn’t find it.  Not with her.  She had none to give.

“What else should I have done?” She challenged.  “My family was dead.  I was all alone.  My home had been stolen and I was wanted dead by half of Westeros and _you abandoned me_.”

“I was sold off!” He argued.

“You were leaving me long before that witch came and you know it!” Arya snapped.  “So what’s it to you if I went and trained with Jaqen?”

Gendry threw up his hands in surrender.  “I didn’t mean that.”

“Well, what _did_ you mean?”

Gendry was quiet for a moment.  “I only wish it hadn’t been _him_.” He mumbled.

“And what’s _that_ supposed to mean?”  Arya couldn’t decide if she should be offended or not.

Gendry turned red beneath all the black ash and soot that coated his tanned skin.  He opened his mouth as though to speak only to close it again.  He huffed and shook his head, settling his hands on his hips.

“Nothing.  Didn’t mean anything.” He grumbled, walking back towards the forge.

Arya frowned at his retreating back.  Something in her twisted as if in pain so she shoved it away.


	4. Interrogations and Introductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa questions Gendry about his past with Arya with little result. Jon introduces Arya to his friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow's chapter might end up being shorter than this one.

Sansa had given Daenerys The Room.  She didn’t see the harm in it.  To anyone else it was a perfectly nice room.  The horrors that had transpired within its walls were hers alone.  As long as the Queen didn’t know, she couldn’t be offended.  And Sansa wasn’t saying anything.  Which only left Bran.

“The smith is here for you, Lady Stark.” Her handmaiden announced as Sansa was finishing her breakfast.

Sansa had taken her morning meal in her chambers and apparently missed all the excitement in the yard by doing so.  _Leave it to Arya to cause a commotion before the sun’s even broken the horizon_.  At least her conversation with the curious bastard smith wouldn’t be interrupted.

“Show him in.”

The man was somehow filthier that morning than he had been the night before after weeks of traveling.  The smell of smoke and sweat filled her bed chambers the moment he stepped into them.  Sansa had to work to keep the disgust from her face.  She wanted information from him which meant he needed to feel comfortable and relaxed.  If she looked like she’d rather throw him from the window than breathe his stench another second, he’d tell her nothing.

“You summoned me, Lady Stark?”  He had his hands held up behind his back and his jaw was set firmly.  Decidedly _not_ relaxed.  Oh, well, she’d just have to try harder.

“Are you hungry?” She waved her hand over the remaining food on her table.  People were often more relaxed when they were eating.

“I ate earlier.  Been working since well before dawn already.”

Sansa nodded.  That would be why he was already so filthy.  Unfortunately, it would seem she would be unable to use any of the usual tactics to put him at his ease.  Cutting straight to the point seemed to be the wisest course from there.

“Gendry.  That’s your name, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Lady Stark.”

His words were polite, but Sansa could hear irritation in his tone.  His answers were as short as he could make them.  He’d say no more than absolutely necessary.

“Gendry Waters,” Sansa said carefully.  Feeling the name in her mouth.  She could phrase her next question any number of ways, but if the bastard boy was going to be gruff with her, she could play the same game.  “How does a bastard from King’s Landing know my sister?”

A muscle in Gendry’s jaw twitched from how hard he was clenching it shut.  He looked defensive, but more than that, he looked angry.  It wouldn’t seem, however, that it was because she’d called him a bastard.

“Why not ask your sister?” He grated through his clenched jaw.

“She’s told me a little.” Sansa admitted.  “Yoren took her from King’s Landing after….” Sansa’s throat still tightened around the words even after so many years.  She cleared her throat delicately.  When she looked back at Gendry he seemed to have softened a bit.  _Curious_.  “He was supposed to bring her here.”

Gendry nodded.  “I know.” He admitted.  Sansa arched an eyebrow at him.

“You were with her and Yoren then?”

“We left King’s Landing together.  She was dressed up as a boy when we met.  Going by the name Arry.”  Gendry looked down at his feet.  “Didn’t know her real name or who she was at first.  Knew she wasn’t a boy, though.  Nobody else seemed to catch on.”

Sansa brightened.  She smiled at Gendry, excitedly.  “You’re him!” She said.

Gendry looked up at Sansa.  His black brows pulled together.

“You’re the boy she told me about.”

“What?” Gendry’s whole demeanor shifted with that one sentence.  He looked vastly more interested in the conversation now.  “She talked about me?”

Sansa smiled.  “Only a little.  And not by name.”

“What’d she say?” He demanded before he remembered who he was speaking to.  He cleared his throat and looked back at his feet.

“Only that you were different.”

“Different,” he repeated.  He chewed on the word as if it were a puzzle that needed deciphering.

Sansa could see his thoughts plainly as she could see the dirt on his face.  “To Arya, different is the best thing you can be.  She’s always had a thing for misfits and castaways being something of a misfit herself.”  Gendry’s hard expression reappeared.  That seemed to be the wrong thing to say.  “So you can see why I was curious about the nature of your relationship.”

“Relat – we don’t have a relationship.” Gendry swore.

Sansa frowned.  “Well, that’s disappointing.  I’ve never seen my sister act so affectionately with a boy she wasn’t related to before.”

“Sorry?” Gendry had become guarded again.  It fascinated Sansa how protective he was of her.  Even when Arya no longer needed protection from anyone.

“Do you know what she is now?”  There was no way to know how long it’d been since they’d last seen one another.  “Do you know what she’s become?”  Sansa doubted very strongly that a Faceless Man would be wasting his time in a smithy in the capital.

Gendry shook his head at her.  “She’s always been Arya.”

“I meant her training with the Faceless Men.  She’s some sort of assassin now.” Sansa clarified, thinking he didn’t understand what she was saying.

She didn’t know what sort of reaction she had been expecting.  Shock, maybe.  Or horror, like what she had felt when she’d learned about it.  But Gendry only stared at her with those cool, blue eyes.

“She’s nothing now that she hasn’t always been.  Only better at it.”

Sansa took a slow sip of her wine, eyeing him thoughtfully.  Arya was right.  This man was different.  Anyone else would run in the other direction from a known assassin.  Yet Gendry was defending her.

“Why did you separate?” Sansa asked at last.

Gendry was scowling.  “Wasn’t by choice.”

Sansa nodded, slowly.  She was considering her next question as he tugged at the sleeve of his filthy shirt.

“If there’s nothing else, Lady Stark, I have weapons need forging.  The White Walkers aren’t going to wait.”

Sansa stared at him a beat longer.  She’d clearly offended him somehow.  The only question was what had been the final straw?  He’d barely even flinched when she’d called him a bastard.  Now he looked like he wanted to tear her head off.  She took another sip of her wine before she nodded at him to go.

Once she was alone again, she sat back in her chair.  Arya had always had peculiar tastes.

* * *

 

Arya left the maester’s for her room.  She had a warm bath waiting and she longed to soak her arm.  The maester had dabbed some horrid potion onto her cut that burned worse than the blade.  She was crossing her parent’s rooms – no, they were Sansa’s rooms now.  Her parents were dead.

The door opened as she reached them and something in her expected it to be her father or mother.  Somehow, the truth was more surprising.  Gendry turned toward her.  He looked pissed.  Almost as pissed as Arya felt seeing him coming out of her sister’s bedroom so early in the morning.

Gendry’s expression relaxed when he saw her.  He almost smiled as he approached her.  Arya scowled and any trace of a smile vanished from his face.

“How’s your arm?” He asked her almost fearfully.

“Fine.” In truth, it burned all the more from that stupid maester’s potion.

“Are you still mad about what I said this morning?”  He frowned and rubbed the back of his head.  “Or about what Tormund said last night?”

“I’m not mad.” She lied.

“You seem mad.”

“Well, I’m not.”

“Okay.  It’s just… you seem it.”

Arya glowered at him.  “You watched me kill a man barely an hour ago and now you’re picking a fight with me?”

Gendry shrugged.  “If something like that stopped me, I’d never get to speak to you again.”

Arya rolled her eyes.  She hated how easily he made her forget how angry he made her.  He looked like he knew it, too.

“Don’t you have a forge to get to?  Weapons to make?  Can’t spend all your time flirting with redheads, you know.”

For some stupid reason, Gendry smiled at her.  “I wasn’t flirting with your sister.”

“Like I care.”

Gendry kept on smiling that stupid grin of his.  “We were just talking.  Mostly about you.”

“Why?” Arya demanded.  Alarmed, embarrassed, and defensive all at once.

Gendry just shrugged at her.  Arya scowled at him and shoved his chest.  Gendry laughed.  “Shouldn’t you be more ladylike now you’re back in your castle and all?”

“Shut up!” Arya spit.

“As M’lady commands.” Gendry teased.

Arya huffed and spun on her heel, stalking away from him.  He made her so mad.  She was a Faceless Man, now.  She’d killed more people than most soldiers.  She’d killed someone only that morning and she’d barely broken a sweat doing it.  Somehow Gendry made her feel like she was still that scared little girl traveling on the King’s Road and hiding from Gold Cloaks.

She stripped out of her clothes, leaving her tunic and undershirt on the table for a servant to mend before sinking into the nice, warm waters of her bath.  The soap and water stung her arm, but it felt better than the maester’s potion.  Arya shut her eyes and let herself relax.  Or tried at least.

Gendry kept popping into her head.  Gendry coming out of Sansa’s room.  There were plenty of reasons for him to be in her sister’s room.  She was Lady of Winterfell.  He was the head smith of Winterfell’s forges.  Besides, he’d told her they’d only been talking.  And talking about _her_.

Arya sank below the water.  What had they been saying about her?  What could have made him look so angry?  What had Sansa said?  And why was Sansa asking him questions about her at all?  It was none of Sansa’s business.  Beautiful Sansa.  Fair Sansa.  Lady of Winterfell.  Maybe Gendry preferred Sansa to her now that he’d met her.

Arya squeezed her eyes shut harder.  Sansa and her red hair.  Arya’d only been joking when she’d harped at Gendry over his love of redheads the night before.  Now she wasn’t so sure it was such a joke after all.  Maybe Gendry really _did_ prefer girls with red hair.

Suddenly, hands were touching her under the water.  Pulling at her.  Arya grabbed the knife she had hidden at the bottom of the tub.  She burst out of the water.  She registered Sansa’s shocked face barely in time to stop her blade from slicing through Sansa’s beautiful, thin neck.

“You shouldn’t sneak up on people.” Arya told her, dropping the knife.

“Who in the seven hells keeps a knife with them in the bathtub?” Sansa demanded, angrily.  She turned and dropped into an armchair near the window.  Her hand massaged her throat protectively.  “Do you have any idea how long you were under there?”

“I was fine.”

“Maybe I should’ve let you drown yourself then.  How humiliating would that have been for you?  Arya Stark, the great, Faceless assassin drowned while taking a bath.”  Sansa sneered.

Arya stood up.  Soap and water ran down her body.  She was clean enough now, though her bath water had gone murky and brown from the dirt and sweat she’d been covered in.  She stepped out of the bath towards Sansa and her robe.

She was expecting more attitude from Sansa about how close Arya had come to giving her a scarlet necklace.  Instead, Sansa had gone completely, curiously mute.  Arya pulled her bathrobe around herself, eyeing her sister.  Sansa looked as though she’d seen a ghost.  _Did I really scare her so much_?

“What?” Arya demanded, when the silence had become too much.

Sansa looked sick.

“Stop staring at me like that or I’ll take your eyes.” Arya threatened.  It was an empty threat and they both knew it, but it got Sansa’s mouth working again.

She snapped her mouth shut.  Arya watched her swallow hard before trying to speak again.  “Your stomach.” She managed.

Arya’s hands dropped to her scars at once.  She knew exactly what Sansa had seen that had made her react like that.  The edges were jagged at both entry points.  Partially from the way The Waif had twisted the blade and partially from when she’d torn through her stitches running from her a week later.  The scar from the slash went almost clear across her middle though it was a smoother line.

“How are you alive?” Sansa asked, bringing Arya back to the room.

“I’m not so easy to kill.”

Sansa frowned, looking again at Arya’s stomach though the scars were now hidden beneath her robes.  She could see the beginnings of pity forming on Sansa’s face.  Arya scowled.

“Why are you here anyway?”

Sansa blinked at her in wonder and confusion.  Like she couldn’t remember her real purpose in being there.  She brought her delicate fingers to her temples and shook her head lightly.

“You killed one of the Queen’s men this morning.”  Sansa told her like Arya didn’t know.

“He tried to kill me first.”

Sansa nodded.  “Well, they can’t find his body.”  Sansa let the obvious question hand in the air.

Arya stared at her sister impassively.  After a moment, she turned and busied herself with dressing.  When she realized she wasn’t going to get a straight answer from Arya, Sansa stood up.

“Jon wants to see you, by the way.” She told Arya with a sigh.

Arya tied up her breeches and picked up her belt from her chair.  She turned back to Sansa only once she was fully clothed.  She’d be damned if she let Sansa pity her.  Not after everything else.  Sansa would never see her undressed again.  Nobody would.

“Where is he?”

Sansa opened the door and turned back to give Arya an intriguing look and smirked.  “The forge.”

* * *

 

“Won’t it be more helpful to have more hands working?” Jon said.  “You’re making weapons for a hundred thousand men.”

“More smith hands, yes.  Any other kind’ll just get in the way.” Gendry told him, continuing to work just as steadily as if he’d been alone.

“I can smith.  What’s there to it?  Heat up the metal and hit it until it looks like a blade.” Jon argued.

Gendry scoffed.  “You don’t know the first thing about forging weapons, Jon.”

“What more is there to know?”

Gendry dropped the blade he was working on into the bucket of water at his feet.  He sighed.  Jon was so much like Arya.  A right pain in his arse.  “It’s got to do more than _look_ like a blade, you know.  It’s got to _be_ a blade.  We’re making weapons not decorations.”

“You spend a lot of time on not decoration.” Jon accused.

Gendry was about to respond when Arya appeared at the entrance to the forge.  Jon tilted his head at him curiously and started to follow his line of sight.  Gendry turned back to the fire and started heating the blade again.

“Arya. Over here.” Jon called.

“Sansa said you wanted to see me.” Arya said in a cool, dry tone.

“That’s ‘cause I do.  We have to talk about what happened this morning.” Jon scolded.

“Why?  Your fancy priestess planning on bringing _him_ back, too?  Otherwise there’s nothing to talk about.  Dead is dead.”

“What’s gotten into you?” Jon hissed.

Gendry glanced up at her from the forge.  She almost looked like she wanted to fight Jon, too.  Then, she wilted.  Her shoulders dropped and she brought her right hand over to hold her left arm.

“Sorry.  There’s just a lot going on right now.” She half explained.

Jon nodded.  All understanding.  He put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed her to him, pressing a kiss to the crown of her wet head.  Arya let him do as he wanted, though Gendry could tell she wanted to shy away from her brother’s touch.  Odd, seeing as she’d always said nothing but kind things about Jon.

“I want to introduce you to someone.  He’s a good friend of mine.” Jon told her.  He released her and waved at Gendry.  Seeing no obvious way out of the horribly awkward situation, Gendry set down the sword he was forging and stepped over to Jon and Arya.

“Arya, this is Gendry.  Gendry, this is my younger sister, Lady Arya.”

Gendry bit his cheek to keep himself from laughing at the way she rolled her eyes at her title.  Gendry wiped his hands on his apron and stuck his left hand out to her.  She stared at him.  She was obviously still sore about that morning.  Possibly even the night before.  He had no doubt she was thinking about shoving him into the forge, but Jon was watching.

Gendry grinned at her.  She sighed and reluctantly gave him her hand.  It was ungloved unlike Jon’s.  He wondered if she’d forgotten to put them on.  Whatever had happened, Gendry could feel how rough and calloused her hand was.  She’d used it a lot.  Even so, her hand was still leagues softer than his.

Before either of them could think or react, Gendry brought her knuckles to his lips.  Arya froze.  Gendry’s lips curled up into a smile against her hand.  “Pleasure to meet you, M’lady.”

Arya snatched her hand away and glared at him.  Jon was altogether oblivious to anything strange about the exchange.  Arya rubbed her hand.

“Do that again and I’ll make sure you never know pleasure again.” She snapped.

“Arya!” Jon cried, appalled.

Arya almost looked guilty for a split second, but one look at Gendry’s grinning face had her scowling all over again.

“I’m going to find Bran.” She announced.  Then, because she’s always gotta be such a little shit, “It stinks in here.”

Jon shouted after her, but Arya was gone as quick as she’d come.  Gendry turned back to his forge, still laughing.  Jon came back and Gendry had to work to calm his laughter.

“Gendry, I’m sorry.  She isn’t usually like this.” _Yes she is_.  “I really don’t know what’s happened to her.”

“It’s fine, Jon.  Really.”  Gendry told him, trying to tamp down his smile.  Jon didn’t look convinced.  “I like her.” Gendry told him.  He’d only meant to say it as reassurance to Jon.  So why were his cheek heating up like that?  Gendry rolled his neck and gave himself a little shake.  It was probably just the fire from the forge, he reasoned.  Nothing else.


	5. Secrets and Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya learns a secret. Daenerys asks for a favor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly forgot Sam was already in Winterfell. Good thing I didn't do a Jon POV for the reunion bit! Lol.

Bran was sitting in the Godswood as he always did when Arya found him.  Found his body, at least.  His mind was somewhere far away.  Arya leaned in close to his face, wondering if he knew she was there or not.  Wondering where he was and what he was seeing.

“Oh, hello!” Samwell Tarly greeted cheerfully from his spot near the tree.  He had three books open simultaneously in front of him.

“Good afternoon.” Arya replied.  She looked beyond him.  The wildling girl was playing with her son in the snow.

Arya sat on the ground by the tree and pulled out two loaves of bread.  The first she handed to Sam who thanked her and split it up for him, Gilly, and the baby.  Arya split the second in half and set one piece on Bran’s lap.  He didn’t eat enough.  He was always so consumed with wherever else he went and whatever else he saw.  Arya let out a deep sigh and stuffed a bite of bread into her mouth.

She turned her left hand over and looked at the knuckles.  A faint streak of ash could be seen from where Gendry had kissed her.  She wasn’t sure what to do with the odd feelings it had given her.  Part of her wondered if he might one day kiss her for real.  The other part of her knew he had only done it to tease her.

All those years ago, Arya had offered him a home with her.  Friendship.  Love.  And Gendry had told her no.  She didn’t care that he was a bastard or a smith.  Her father wouldn’t have cared either.  She knew it.  Ned Stark had told her that she could have whatever and whoever she wanted.  She didn’t care that he was a lowborn.  That he was a bastard.  None of that had ever made any difference to her.  But Gendry had cared.  Or maybe he just didn’t feel the same way for her that she felt for him.  Either way, the wondering was useless.

“I saw you.” Sam said, snapping her from her thoughts.  “This morning.  When you were fighting with that Dothraki.  You’re really good.”

“Thank you.”  Arya didn’t know what else to say.  Sam was Jon’s friend.  And apparently he was Bran’s friend, too, judging by how often he spent his days with her brother in the Godswood.

“He’ll come around soon.” Sam nodded at Bran.

Arya looked at him.  Of all the Stark children, Bran had undoubtedly changed the most.  Arya remembered him so full of life.  Determination.  He was spirited.  He used to chase her around the yard when she showed him up at the training grounds.  They used to laugh together.  Play together.  The Bran that had left Winterfell had never come back.  Arya wondered if he was trying to find that Bran again like she was trying to find that Arya.

“Look, look, Little Sam, it’s Lady Arya.” Gilly cooed at her baby.

“Arry.” Little Sam said.  Arya smiled at him.  He wasn’t wrong.  She was as much Arry as she was Arya.

“Can you tell Lady Arya thank you for the bread?” Sam asked the boy.

“’Ank oo, Arry.” Little Sam said.

“Arya.” Bran said, coming back to his body.  “You look angry.  Maybe you’re just sad.”

“I’m not anything.  I just came to make sure you ate something.” Arya pointed at the bread in his lap.

“I think you came to escape something, too.”

“You think or you ‘know?’  Have you been spying on me?”

Bran took a bite of his bread and chewed slowly.  “Do you remember when father told us about his fight with Ser Arthur Dayne?  During the war?”

Arya frowned at the obvious evasion.  “Yes.  He was the greatest swordsman father ever knew and father beat him.”

“Father didn’t beat him.  Ser Arthur Dayne won the fight.”  Bran said.

Arya scoffed.  Maybe Bran’s visions were more hallucinations after all.  If their father had been beaten in battle neither of them would have ever been born.  She took a large bite of her bread to hold her tongue.

“Ser Arthur Dayne would have killed father that day, but Howland Reed stabbed him through the back at the Tower of Joy.”

Arya paused in her chewing.  “You’re wrong.”

“I’m not wrong.  I was there.  I saw it happen.”

“Well, you saw it wrong.  Father wouldn’t lie about something like that.”

“Father lied about a lot of things.”  Bran told her in his calm, emotionless voice.  Arya wanted to hit him.

“Father was a good, honest man.  He was _loyal_.” Arya insisted.

“He was.  He was loyal.  And those loyalties bred his lies.”

“Loyalties to who?  Howland Reed?  What did he do that would inspire such loyalties?  Stab a man in the back for him?”

“Loyalty to his sister.  Our aunt.  Lyanna.”

Lyanna.  The woman who started a war.  Her father had always told Arya she looked like her.  Especially when she was feeling particularly jealous of Sansa’s good looks.  He would tell Arya about Lyanna who could sit a horse better than the most seasoned man in the cavalry.  How her beauty had stolen the hearts of two men.  Lyanna was brave and talented and beautiful and Arya resembled her.

“Bran, I really don’t think –”

“What did you see?”

“I’ve seen many things.”

“I told you, I think it’s best to leave it until the dead are, well, dead.” Sam said.  Arya shot him a withering glare, warning him to shut up.

“What happened with our Aunt Lyanna?  What happened with father?” Arya insisted.

“You remember the story about what happened to her?  What started Robert’s Rebellion?” Bran asked, both of them ignoring Sam’s pleas to leave well enough alone.

“Rhaegar kidnapped her.  He raped her and she died in the Tower of Joy.”

“He didn’t kidnap her.  Or rape her.”

“Oh?  So she went to Dorne for fun?  Thought starting a war would be a great party?” Arya asked, dryly.

“They loved each other.” Sam said on a sigh as he accepted his defeat.  “They were married in a secret ceremony in Dorne.”

“They were married?”

“Lyanna Stark died in childbirth.” Bran told her.

“Childbirth?” Arya looked between the two men.  “Why would father keep that secret?”

“Because the child wasn’t dead.” Sam said.

“Father came home from the wars with a baby in his arms.”

“But that was Jon.  That was….” Arya stared down at her hands grappling with this new information.  Trying to make sense of it all.

“His real name is Aegon Targaryen.  Father named him Jon Snow and claimed him as his bastard so that Robert Baratheon wouldn’t kill him.  He was his sister’s only child.  She died for him and father wouldn’t let her death be for nothing.”

Arya shook her head slowly.  “But… but why haven’t you told him?  Why not tell him now?  If he’s Rhaegar’s true born son, he’s heir to the Iron Throne.  Not this Dragon Queen.”

“If we tell him now, he’ll be too distracted when the Long Night comes.  That’s a battle we can’t afford to lose.” Sam said.  “You can’t tell him.  Not yet.”

Arya looked at Bran.  It was too big a secret to keep hidden.  Surely her brother must see that no matter how much he’d changed.  Bran stared at the Gods tree. 

“The Night King is on this side of the Wall now.  If we lose, it won’t matter who is whose son or who is heir to what.  Houses won’t matter.  Family names won’t matter.  Sam is right.  We can’t tell him yet.” 

She watched as his eyes grew distant then a murky white film engulfed them.  Arya stood there a while longer.  Waiting for Bran to continue, but he was gone.  Spying into the lives of the unsuspecting people. 

“I know you want to tell him.” Sam said.  “I want to tell him, too.  I want him to know he isn’t a bastard.  He never was.  But we can’t risk it.  You know it.  You have to.  I’ve seen you fight.  You have to know what distractions can do to you.”

Arya stood and brushed the snow from her cloak.  She understood about distractions.  She knew how to lock them away.  To keep herself focused.  Her training had given her no choice.  But Jon didn’t have her training.  As much as she hated it, there was no other choice but to keep the secret.

As she walked back to her mount, Arya couldn’t help but wish she had never chosen to come to the Godswood that day.  That she had never pressed Bran to tell her.  She didn’t know how she was going to look her brother in the eyes again.  _No_.  Arya thought.  _He isn’t my brother.  Not really.  He’s my cousin._

"Lady Arya.” Daenerys called out the moment Arya’s horse stepped out of the trees.  Daenerys was astride a beautiful, white horse.  Beside her, Torgo Nudho and Missandei had their own mounts.

Daenerys Targaryen.  Sister of Rhaegar Targaryen.  That made her Jon’s aunt.  Arya felt sick.  If news of his true parentage wasn’t enough to put Jon over the edge, finding out he was bedding his aunt surely would.  Arya wiped her face of emotion.  She would keep this secret.

“Your Grace, what are you doing out here?”

Daenerys tipped her head across the field.  The two dragons were resting at the bottom of a hill.  Arya’s eyes lit up.  Dragons seemed like a perfect distraction from her internal strife.  The queen seemed to notice her excitement.  She smiled at Arya.

“Would you like to meet them?”

Arya was suddenly afraid.  She had killed one of Daenerys’ men earlier that morning though it now seemed a lifetime ago.  Surely she wasn’t planning on getting revenge by feeding Arya to her dragons.  Arya looked at Daenerys skeptically.

“Will they kill me?”

Daenerys shrugged and smiled coyly.  “Only if you mean to do me harm.  Do you mean to do me harm?”

“I only kill when necessary.” Arya told her evenly.

Daenerys frowned.  “And the Dothraki man from this morning?  It was necessary to kill him?  You couldn’t have subdued him some other way?”

“Have you ever been in a swordfight before, Your Grace?”

“No.  I prefer to fight with fire.”  Daenerys looked back at Torgo Nudho before turning back to Arya with a vaguely abashed look on her face.  “I apologize.  My general has already told me that your actions were necessary.  If you hadn’t killed him, he would have likely killed you and anyone else that tried to stop the fight.”

“Then why ask me?”

“I told you I was curious about you.  You are an unusual woman Arya Stark.”  Daenerys nudged her horse forward toward the dragons.

Arya frowned.  People still mostly referred to Arya as a girl and though many had told her she was weird or strange or unusual, she’d never heard it said with such praise.  Like it was something to be proud of.  Arya followed after Daenerys and her two companions.

Daenerys dismounted a ways from the dragons and walked the rest of the way.  Arya followed suit, noting the way Torgo Nudho and Missandei stayed back with the horses.  Fear twisted in her belly like a coiled snake.  She was afraid, yes, but excited.

The black dragon swung his great head over when he spotted Daenerys.  She laid her hand on the creature’s nose familiarly.  He nudged her amiably making the queen smile.  Arya admired the way his black scales glistened in the sun.  Like Balerion, the Black Dread.  She could read a hundred stories about the dragons and never feel as exhilarated as she did standing an arm away from them.

“This is Drogon.” Daenerys told her.  She nodded at Arya.  “That one is Rhaegal.”

Arya spun around.  She had no idea how she’d let a massive dragon sneak up behind her.  The great beast was sniffing at her.  Its hot breath made her forget the cold.  It felt like a summer breeze washing over her.

Once she’d calmed down, she allowed herself to really look at the dragon.  As beautiful as Drogon’s black scales were, Rhaegal’s green and bronze scales were infinitely more beautiful.  His wings were orange and yellow where Drogon’s were blood red.  Arya tentatively reached out a hand and held it out to him, just as she’d done to Nymeria in the woods.  Just the same, meeting Rhaegal felt like meeting an old friend.

“He’s beautiful.” Arya breathed.

She’d never seen anything so beautiful.  Rhaegal pressed his nose lightly into Arya’s outstretched hand.  He was smoother than she’d thought he’d be.  From looking at them and from all the pictures she’d seen of dragons, Arya had always assumed they would feel rough to the touch, but Rhaegal was smooth as silk.

“He likes you.” Daenerys said with an air of surprise.  “He’s been having a hard time since we lost Viserion.  They were always so close.”

“What happened?” Arya had heard rumors.

“The Night King happened.  It would seem I underestimated him.  Or I overestimated us.  I won’t make the same mistake.”  She looked at Drogon then Rhaegal.  “I _will_ keep you safe.”

The dragons chirped in answer as if they knew exactly what she was talking about.  Arya was fascinated.  Dragons were supposed to be intelligent creatures.  She had no idea just how intelligent they were.

“Now that we have some time, I would still like to know more about you.  Jon hasn’t been able to answer any of my questions.” Daenerys left the dragons and led them back to Torgo Nudho, Missandei, and the horses.

“What sort of questions do you have?” Arya swung into her saddle easily, surprised to see a refined lady such as Daenerys able to do the same.

“Where did you go when you left the capital?”

“I headed North with a friend of my father’s.  He was taking men to the Wall to take the black.” Arya found herself looking at her hand again.  At the spot Gendry had kissed her.

“I thought it was mainly criminals that were sent to the Wall.”

“I traveled with rapists, murderers, and thieves.  But there were good people there, too.” Arya agreed.

“Good people?  Like Yoren?”

Arya nodded.  “And Hot Pie and Lommy and Gendry.”

“I see.” Daenerys shared a look with Missandei.  “Gendry is quite handsome, isn’t he?”

“Your Grace?”

“You don’t think so?” Daenerys frowned and looked at Missandei.  “Do you think Gendry is attractive?”

Missandei gave a peaceable smile and a slight nod.  “He is, Your Grace.”

Behind them, Torgo Nudho began to mutter in High Valyrian.  “Stupid man.  He doesn’t know how to use a sword and can only swing that stupid hammer of his.”

“Do not call him stupid.” Arya returned in her best High Valyrian.  Torgo Nudho’s eyes widened in surprise before he lowered his head in shame.

“I should not have spoken harshly.” He told her in the common tongue.

“You speak High Valyrian?” Missandei asked.

Arya nodded.  “I’m better at Braavosi.”

“You are full of surprises.” Daenerys remarked.

They came to the gates of Winterfell.  Arya swallowed hard, remembering what she had learned about her supposed half-brother.  She glanced at Daenerys.  What would the Dragon Queen do if she knew Jon was the rightful heir to the throne she so badly wanted?  Would she kill her lover?  Her own nephew?  She didn’t seem like a cruel woman, but Arya had learned that most people were not what they seemed.

“I’ve never seen anyone fight like you.”  Daenerys said after they had dismounted.  “And I have seen many people fight.  You move so elegantly. So quickly.”

“Like a dance.” Missandei offered.

“Yes, exactly.”

“It’s called the Water Dance.” Arya told them.  “I learned it from the first sword of Braavos, Syrio Forel.”

“Is he the one that taught you to speak Braavosi?” Missandei asked.

“He taught me a little, but the rest I learned after I went to Braavos.”

“Well, what happened to Syrio?”

“He died.  He’s the reason I made it away from the Gold Cloaks before Yoren found me.”

“There are many women and girls being trained to fight, you know.  I think they would benefit from your tutelage.  They can’t all swing broadswords like Lady Brienne.”

“Or ride dragons like you.”

Daenerys smiled and nodded.  “Also true.  Do you think you could teach them?”

Arya looked across the yard to the forge.  A steady stream of smoke poured from its roof.  The smiths were all hard at work.  On the opposite end, the master of arms was training young boys to fight with wooden swords.  They would never be professional swordsmen or bowmen by the time the White Walkers made it to Winterfell, but they might learn just enough to keep them safe.  Even if it was just a few moments more.  She wouldn’t deny the women and girls the same hope.

“I’ll start tonight.” Arya agreed.

“Tonight?”

“The Night King and his army are already through the Wall.  We don’t have the privilege of waiting.”

Daenerys looked up at the grey sky.  “No.  We do not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry there wasn't actually a whole lot of Gendrya in this chapter. I promise I'll make it up to you tomorrow!! Thank you for reading! I love you all!!!!


	6. War and Romance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gendry is summoned and displays his unwavering stupidity. In the best way, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is in no way my prediction for Season 8. I am not trying to write the show. This entire work is purely my own personal wish fulfillment. Nothing more. I am glad that other people seem to like it as much as I do! Thank you for reading it!

For the next week, Gendry saw very little of Arya.  Once or twice he’d passed her in the castle, but she’d gone to great pains to ignore him.  He worked well into the night and started again before the sun was up in the morning.  Occasionally, he could hear her sparring with Brienne or the other girls she was training.  Always he could feel her knuckles on his lips.

Gendry soon found himself thinking dangerous thoughts.  Thoughts like the other places he’d like to kiss her.  Like, if her hands had still felt that soft after all her laboring and training, what must her lips feel like?  It was those kinds of thoughts that drove Gendry to concentrate on the swing of his hammer.  He knew indulging them would be the worst thing he could do no matter who his father was.

An army tens of thousands strong was marching ever toward them.  They could be at their gates at any moment.  The Night King could wipe them all from the map.  Gendry couldn’t let himself be distracted with improper thoughts about Lady Arya Stark.  He couldn’t let himself again feel what he had felt only hints of all those years ago.  He knew he would fight armies or dragons or the entire Dothraki horde to keep her with him if he did.  No. It wouldn’t do to think of Arya when there was work to be done.  Love was a grace of peacetime.  War was no time for romance.

On the seventh day, Ser Davos appeared in his forge.  Gendry nodded his greeted at him, but didn’t stop working.  He couldn’t stop.  The second his hands stilled, Arya’s face would jump into his head.  And he couldn’t think of Arya without thinking about how badly he wanted to scoop her up and kiss her.  Even though he knew she’d likely kick his arse clear to High Garden for it.

“You’ve been in this forge so much even your bed is missing you.” Ser Davos teased.

“Thought you’d be happy.  This dragon glass isn’t about to forge itself.”

“You need to rest.”

“I get plenty of rest.”

“You need to eat.”

“I’ve been eating.”

Ser Davos let out a big sigh.  “Jon’s sister has been asking about you.”

Gendry’s hammer missed the blade and struck the anvil sending tremors up his arm.  _Arya had asked after him_?

“Jon promised her you’d be at dinner tonight.  He sent me in here to fetch you.”

“There’s too much to do here.”

Ser Davos shook his head.  “You’re taking a break.  And that’s an order.”  To keep Gendry from arguing further, Davos grabbed him by the back of the neck and snatched his hammer from his hand.  Davos used the grip he had on him to steer him away from his work.  He only released him when they were a considerable distance from the forge.

Ser Davos stopped him when the hall came into view.  He turned back to Gendry and wrinkled his nose at him.

“You, ah, you might want to wash up.  A bit.” Davos nodded down at Gendry’s chest.

Gendry followed his eyes and understood at once.  He was caked in grime and sweat.  He couldn’t imagine just what his face must’ve looked like.  He didn’t really think Arya would mind so much, but there was more than just her in the hall.

“There’s a bath set up in your room.”  Davos informed him.

“Set up?”

“If you’re quick about it, it’ll still be warm when you get there.”

 _A warm bath_?  Gendry’d only ever had one warm bath in his life.  Right before Melisandre had tied him down and used him.  Taken his blood and used it to kill Arya’s king brother.  Still, he couldn’t deny he needed a bath, so he left Davos for his room.

For the first time, Gendry noticed there was a mirror in his room.  Any qualms he may have felt about taking another warm bath left him.  They were instantly replaced by the horror of thinking Arya might ever see him looking like that.  He was completely unrecognizable.  The only part of him that wasn’t completely black were his blue eyes.  The stood out on his face.  He looked like Death watching from the shadows.

Gendry peeled his clothes from his body.  The grime clung to him even beneath his clothes.  He dropped his shirt on the floor although shirt might have been a loose interpretation of the word now.  It was more a clump of soot and sweat than actual fabric.

The water turned as black as he was mere seconds after he stepped foot in it.  He had no idea how he was supposed to clean himself when he couldn’t even use clean water.  As if hearing his thoughts, a troop of servants entered his room to take his dirtied tub of water and replaced it with a second tub that they filled with fresh water.

Gendry murmured his thanks and set about finishing washing himself.  He managed to get mostly clean with the second tub, though the water looked no better once he’d finished.  He checked the mirror, pleased to see he looked human once more.  He knew it wasn’t perfect, but it was miles better than he’d been before.

Now all he had to worry about was his sudden lack of clothing.  At some point, the servants had taken his clothes away.  Gendry was unsure just what they expected him to do.  Was he meant to wait for them to bring them back?  He couldn’t leave for the hall being bare as the day he was born.  Friend or no, Jon would have no choice other than to chop off his head if he did something like that.  Then he saw the clothes laid out on his bed.

He touched them curiously.  They were new and clean and made of the finest material he’d ever touched.  A part of him wondered where they’d come from.  He’d never worn clothes so nice.  He supposed that was why they felt so uncomfortable.  The pants felt too tight.  He wiggled his legs and adjusted himself awkwardly.  It wasn’t like he had anything else to wear at the moment.  He had no choice other than to grin and bear it.  Maybe it was a sick joke of Arya’s.  Maybe she was still getting back at him for kissing her hand like he had.

Jon and Ser Davos met him just outside the hall.  Jon grinned when he saw him.  “Well, don’t you just look the proper prince now?” He teased, clapping him on the back.

“These pants are crushing my balls.” Gendry complained.

“At least they won’t freeze off.”  Ser Davos chirped.

Jon ushered Gendry into the hall, pointing him towards the head table.  Gendry frowned at all the empty seats.  He looked over to Jon.  “Where’s the queen?”

Jon nodded to the back corner of the room.  Gendry spied her silvery hair immediately.  She was seated at a table in the far corner.  She was smiling as she spoke to her companion.  Gendry’s heart skipped and the memory of her skin against his lips popped back to the front of his thoughts.  Arya.

“Alright, Sansa, as promised.” Jon said beside him.

Gendry’s attention snapped back to Jon, then up to Lady Stark in confusion and surprise.  When Ser Davos had mentioned Jon’s sister Gendry’s mind had gone straight to Arya.  He’d completely forgotten about the other one.

“Lady Stark,” Gendry managed as politely as he could muster.  He was ashamed.  Embarrassed.  He’d been so excited to think Arya had been concerned about him.  That Arya had been the one that wanted to see him.  He should’ve known better.  If she’d really wanted to see him, she would’ve just gone to him at the forge.

“I’m glad to see you in good health, Gendry.” Sansa said, evenly.  “You work long hours and I seldom see you eat.  It wouldn’t do to have our best smith dying from exhaustion.”

“I eat all the meals sent to the forge, Lady Stark.  You don’t need to worry.  I get plenty of rest, too.”

Sansa’s brows pulled together just a bit and the corners of her eyes wrinkled just a bit.  Gendry almost smiled.  He’d finally found something of Arya in the woman.  She frowned at him.  “Someone’s bringing you food?”

“Every day, Lady Stark.  Sometimes twice a day.” Gendry confirmed, though he didn’t know why it needed confirming.

“I see,” Sansa said, curiously.  “That’s good, then.  Good you’re eating.  But you still need to rest.  You hardly leave the forge for more than a few spare hours.  And most of those hours are spent training with Lord Beric and Ser Clegane.”

“I’ve told him the same thing.” Jon told his sister.

“As have I.”  Ser Davos piped in.

“Let him be, Sansa.  Jon.”  A boy said beside Sansa.

Gendry looked at him curiously.  He had called them both by their given names with no titles and he spoke with such authority.  He had to be Arya’s other brother.

“Gendry, this is my brother, Bran.  Bran, this is Gendry.  He’s the –”

“I know who he is.” Bran said quickly, cutting Jon off.  “And where he’s been.” The boy added and then he turned his piercing grey eyes on Gendry.  Eyes that seemed to cut straight into him and through him.  “And who he’s been with.”

A chill ran through Gendry colder than the wintery Northern air.  He couldn’t figure out just what exactly the boy was getting at.  He felt it was likely something to do with him and Arya, but he couldn’t be sure.  He didn’t want to know, either.

“Stop that, Bran.” Arya barked as she materialized beside him.  It was a relief to have her there.  Her siblings seemed less intimidating when she was near.

Bran turned his steely gaze on Arya.  “As M’lady commands.” He told her.

Gendry’s heart squeezed and his breath caught in his throat.  Why would she tell her brother that?  Granted, she hadn’t told Jon, but this brother seemed worse somehow.  Unsettling.  He looked down at her.  A whisper of pink fluttered prettily over her cheeks, but her eyes were all daggers.

“Can the Three-Eyed Raven see what I’m going to do to him if he doesn’t shut his mouth?” Arya challenged.  An edge crept into her voice that gave even Gendry chills.

Bran let out a sigh and dropped his gaze.  Sansa and Jon shared a look, but said nothing of the strange exchange.  Ser Davos was staring at Gendry with that assessing gaze of his.  Gendry was only lucky that if the man did work it out, he wouldn’t open his mouth the way Tormund did.  Davos could keep secrets.

“Hey, where’d Daenerys disappear to?” Jon asked, suddenly.  His eyes darted around the hall after her silver hair.

“Torgo Nudho came and told her that there was an issue with the dragons.  Rhaegal was picking fights with Drogon and Drogon keeps biting him.  She went to try and settle them down.” Arya answered without looking at Jon.

“She went alone?” Jon demanded.

Arya still wouldn’t look at him.  Gendry wondered if she was angry with her brother.  And what Jon could have possibly done that had made her so angry.  Jon didn’t look as though he knew either.

“Torgo Nudho and Missandei are with her.  There is an entire Dothraki horde between her and the Northern Lords."  Arya glanced at her older brother and away again just as quickly.  "If you go now, you might be able to catch her.”

“Jon,” Bran called as Jon turned for the door.  Jon looked back at his brother.  “Sam was looking for you earlier.”

Jon cast his eyes around the hall.  “Where is he?”

“Back in the study.”

Jon sighed heavily.  He looked out the window towards where Daenerys had gone then at the other door that led back into the castle.  He huffed and shook his head.

“Alright.  I’ll go see him.”

Gendry noticed the way Arya relaxed ever so slightly after Jon left.  She looked up at her brother.  They appeared to have a conversation with their eyes that resulted in Arya looking at her feet and Bran turning his head away to the door.

“You know, Arya, Gendry here was just telling me about all the meals being brought to him at the forge.” Sansa announced.

Gendry’s brows pulled together.  He didn’t know why she was bringing that up like it was an important piece of gossip.  Gendry looked down at Arya to see her scowling up at her sister.  It wasn’t completely unusual.  Arya wore a scowl like she wore her sword on her hip.  Gendry thought it only made her smiles more precious.

“I’m leaving.” Arya replied.

“Already?” Sansa asked, playful innocence heavy in her voice.  She was almost mocking.  “Gendry just got here.”

“I’m carving your face off in the morning.” Arya warned.  Sansa laughed at her.

Gendry thought they had a peculiar relationship.  He wondered if it had always been this way between them or if it was a new development after all the tragedies that had befallen them.  Gendry couldn’t decide if Sansa cared about her sister or not.  Half the time, Gendry thought Sansa wanted Arya out of the way.  He figured that was why she’d summoned him to her rooms the week prior.  Why she’d asked him for all the details of their time traveling together.  Now he had no idea.

Arya looked up at him like she wanted to say something to him, but she glanced at Davos and changed her mind.  He watched her stride smoothly to the door and away.  He wished she would turn back around and decide to stay.  He hoped she would choose to eat with him.  Talk with him.  Give him a chance to explain his side of events.

“Gendry?”

He turned back to the older Stark sister.  She was giving him a strange smile.  Like she had a secret she couldn’t wait to tell him.

“You should know that no one is sending food to the forge.  The servants are overburdened as it stands.  None could be spared for such a task.  Not when all the other smiths leave to eat lunch elsewhere.” Sansa said.

Gendry still didn’t understand why she was telling him all this.  She didn’t have a reason to lie, but food _was_ coming to the forge every day.  He should know.  Most days it was all he ate.

“I don’t understand.” Gendry told her, simply.

Sansa sagged, disappointment etched on her doll like face.  “It means _some_ one is bringing the food to you.  And it isn’t a servant.  And it isn’t Jon.  And it isn’t me.”

She let her words hang in the air.  Gendry was slow to catch on.  Obviously someone was bringing the food to him.  He didn’t think it just magically appeared before him.  But it wasn’t a servant doing it.  Or Jon or Lady Stark.  He’d just met Bran and he wasn’t all too certain the boy liked him.  He looked at Ser Davos.

“It isn’t me, either, lad.”  Davos looked pointedly at the door Arya had just left through.

Understanding hit him like a hammer to the face.  There was only one person who would bring him food to the forge.  Only one sneaky enough to come and go so quickly and quietly he never noticed.  It had been Arya.  She came to the forge every day.  She brought him meats and bread and even sweetcakes.  This whole time, Arya had been thinking about him.  She’d been concerned about him.  She hadn’t asked Jon or Ser Davos to bring him to dinner because she was already making sure he ate every day.

Gendry felt his feet moving before he remembered telling them to do so.  He caught her up in his arms just before she reached the staircase leading to her room.  She gasped as he pulled her around, but she didn’t resist him.  She didn’t try to pull away.  She only said, “Gendry?”  And then he was kissing her.

Gendry, bastard son of a dead king, was kissing Arya Stark in the castle of Winterfell.  He was kissing her and her lips were somehow softer than he could have ever imagined.  She didn’t seem to know how to react.  She was frozen.  Her hands were clenched into tight fists against his chest.  She didn’t move.  Gendry didn’t even think she breathed.  He pulled back, suddenly ashamed of himself.

He’d kissed her without thinking.  She’d told him she’d make sure he never knew pleasure again if he kissed her.  Gendry tensed up, bracing himself for whatever she did next.  She’d either slap him or she’d kill him.  Gendry secretly hoped for the latter.  He didn’t think there was any way he could take another breath on this earth knowing he would never again kiss Arya Stark whether it was in Winterfell or anywhere else in the world.  All seven hells would be heaven compared to that fate.

“Sorry.” He muttered sheepishly.  Then he cleared his throat.  The air was thick around them.  Arya still hadn’t moved or spoken.  “Sorry, M’lady.  Shouldn’t be going around putting my grimy, bastard mouth on M’lady high.” Gendry told her, only half joking.  Son of a dead king or not, he was still a bastard from Fleabottom.

“Gendry.” Arya said, as if she’d just figured out how to speak again.

Gendry flinched.  He didn’t want to hear her scold him just yet.  He wanted to relish in the feel of his mouth on hers just a few minutes more and then throw himself into his forge.

“I should go.” He said.  He nodded to himself.  “Yeah, I’m… I’m gonna go.”

He started away from her, cursing his own stupidity.  So she brought him a few meals.  What did that matter?  She’d always been a mindful person and she knew how he got when he worked.  That was no reason to kiss her.  Or any reason to think she wanted him to in the first place.  He knew he’d never been smart, but he never thought he was quite so stupid.

“Gendry!” Arya said again in the tone that meant he’d better listen.

Gendry froze in his step.  He couldn’t look at her so he looked just over her right shoulder.  Slap him or kill him.

“Yes, M’lady.” He winced.  He really needed to stop saying that.  He knew he was only irritating her further.

 “Do that again.”

Now Gendry did look at her.  Her cheeks were a bright, full pink.  Her eyes sparkled with that determination and spirit that her loved.  Gendry cocked his head to the side.  He surely hadn’t heard her right.  “What?”

“That….” Arya let out a huff.  Gendry had never seen her so red.  “Kiss me again.” She told him, firmly so there was no mistaking it.

Gendry was stunned for the briefest of moments.  Then, his lips curled up in a slow smile.  He reached out and settled his hand on her waist.  “As M’lady commands.” He murmured.

He touched his lips to hers more slowly this time.  Arya still didn’t seem to know what to do.  Though she seemed to resolve to kiss him back regardless.  She puckered her lips up against his like a small child would.  It made Gendry smile.  He’d never been more certain she’d never kissed anyone else before that moment.

Gendry shook his head against hers.  “Not like that, Arya,” He told her softly.  “Like this.” He tipped his head to one side and pulled her bottom lip between his.  Arya’s hands uncurled from their fists and went around his neck.  He pulled her against him.  Arya set to mimicking him.  Everything he did, she mirrored.  But she was still so tense.

“Relax, Arya.” Gendry said against her mouth.  “Stop overthinking it.”  He kissed her again and pressed her back against the cool, stone wall.  “Matter of fact, stop thinking at all.”

“You stop talking.” She retorted.

Gendry chuckled.  “Yes, M’lady.”

It was unclear how long they stayed there, learning each other in entirely new ways.  They only stopped when they heard the sounds of people shuffling out of the hall and toward their respective beds.

They started off away from each other and at once the same thought occurred to them.  They spun around to face each other again.

“Don’t tell Jon!” They said together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't do slow burn very well. Can you tell?


	7. Kisses and Proposals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya and Gendry have fun at the forge. Jon talks to Gendry.

Arya couldn’t sleep.  Her lips still tingled from Gendry’s kisses.  Her body craved his touch in a way she had never craved anything else.  She could still picture that wild look in his eyes when he turned her around and kissed her the first time.  And the easy curve of his mouth after she’d demanded he do it again.

She rolled over and stared at the chair where she kept her clothes.  Needle rested on the seat, propped up against the backrest. She couldn’t help but wonder what Jon would think.  He obviously had a high opinion of Gendry as a person, but that didn’t mean he would approve of him kissing her.  She was keeping an awful lot of secrets from him these days.  She used to tell Jon everything.  Arya rolled back onto her back.  It didn’t really matter what Jon thought.  No one told Arya what to do anymore.

Arya felt her cheeks heat all over again.  Gendry had spent a good twenty minutes doing nothing but tell her what to do.  A _really_ good twenty minutes.  And Arya hadn’t had the slightest thought to be angry about it.  She thought maybe it had something to do with the reverent way he had whispered her name.  _Arya, Arya_.  Like a prayer.  A nicer prayer than her list.  And her name was the only one on his.  She touched her lips again.  Gendry’s stubble had chafed against her cheeks and she could feel it like he was still there.  Still kissing her.

The next morning she hadn’t slept a wink and still felt better than she had in ages.  She moved lighter on her feet.  So much so, in fact, that Brienne asked whether she had been holding back the past few weeks.  In truth, she had been, but not in the ways Brienne was thinking.  Her father had taught her never to show people what you were capable of until you were in a real battle with them.  That way, they never knew what to expect.  Still, Arya couldn’t seem to keep the hop out of her step.  She even volunteered to train with Podrick for an hour before the girls arrived.

The boy was hopelessly inept.  Arya had to keep reminding herself that she had been where he was only years before.  Still, whenever he dropped his sword, Arya found herself thinking she had _never_ been so clumsy.  Surely she had never gone so long without any improvement.  Not even when she’d been completely blind.

When the women and girls showed up to begin that day’s training, Arya was more patient than she’d ever been.  She took her time training each girl before setting them up with one another to spar.  Both she and Brienne watched them diligently.  They called out any mistakes they saw for the girls to correct.  They were easier to train than the men.  They listened better.  Men so often believed they already knew everything.  Or that there was nothing a girl could teach them.  Arya planned to have her girls spar against the master of arms’ boys before the week was out.

At noon, Arya went to the kitchens and filled a basket with bread, meat, cheese, and all the sweetcakes she could steal.  It had become routine.  The kitchen maids knew to expect her.  Dolly even set the baskets out for her.  They never asked what they were for and Arya never told them.  She was a lady of Winterfell no matter what she had done or what she wore or how she behaved.  They treated her accordingly.

Arya kept close to the walls of the castle as she walked to the forge.  It was as much habit as necessity.  She didn’t want anyone to see her or where she was heading, least of all Jon.  As for Gendry, his nose was always so buried in his work, a dragon could land on his head and he wouldn’t even look up.

It wasn’t until she saw the lazy tendrils of smoke rising from the top of the forge that her heart began to hammer in her chest like Gendry was using it to build a one of his swords.  She scolded herself.  She tried reminding herself yet again that it was _just_ Gendry, but it was hopeless.

In the same vein, she couldn’t cover her disappointment at seeing the forge completely empty.  Arya walked all the way to the back where Gendry usually worked.  She peeked around the carts of dragon glass just in case he had decided to take a nap behind them.  She chewed her lip.  Maybe today was the day he decided to go eat with the other smiths.

Arya looked down at the basket in her hand.  She debated in leaving it there anyway, but if Gendry wanted food, he’d have to work for it and she didn’t see him doing any work.  Her disappointment turned to irritation and she stormed back out of the forge and started for the stables.  Maybe Bran was hungry.

“Are you looking for someone?” Gendry asked.

Arya stopped short and looked across the yard to where he was sitting on a stone bench not ten feet from her.  Arya gave him her best frown though it was difficult.  The second she saw him all she wanted to do was smile.

“Why aren’t you working?”

“I’m taking a break.”

“You never take breaks.”

“And how would you know I never take breaks?” He asked her, knowingly.

Arya chewed at her lip.  Gendry’s gaze caught on it.  Arya stopped at once.  His blue eyes turned stormy.  Arya worked to still the flutters dancing around in her stomach.  Gendry’s eyes dropped to the basket in her hand.  He smiled.

“Is that for me?”

Arya floated over to him on the bench.  She knew she had probably walked, but she couldn’t feel her legs enough to be sure.  Gendry stood up as she reached him.  He was so close.  She could smell the smoke and sweat on him.  It smelled good.  It smelled like Gendry.  Arya preferred him like this.  Dirty from work and all dressed in his worn clothes.  It was more him than the scrubbed and fancily dressed Gendry from the night before.

Gendry took the basket from her hand and caught her other hand up in his own.  Arya couldn’t find words to protest.  She wasn’t even sure she wanted to.  Gendry led her back into the forge all the way to the back.  He set the basket down on a cart of dragon glass.  Then he turned and he was kissing her again.

Arya sighed into his mouth.  She knew at once that this was exactly what she was hoping would happen.  Gendry’s hands gripped her thighs and a thrill chased her flutters in circles around her belly.  He pulled her up, leaning her back against the wall so he didn’t have to bend to kiss her.  Arya’s legs locked around his hips to hold herself up.

She froze up again when she felt Gendry’s tongue touch her bottom lip.  He noticed her hesitation at once.  He pulled back and panted down at her, resting his sweaty forehead against hers.

“Sorry.” He murmured.  “Getting carried away.”

He was going to put her down.  He was going to stop kissing her.  Arya squeezed her thighs more tightly around his hips.  Her hands fisted more securely in the collar of his shirt.  She clung to him.

“I don’t know what to do.” She admitted.  Were it anyone else, she might have been embarrassed.  But it was Gendry and Gendry was different.

He touched her cheek tenderly, his calloused fingers like rose petals against her skin.  He gave her a soft smile.  His lids were heavy.  She wondered if she looked that way to him, too.

“Just do what I do and let me know if you want me to stop.”

Stop?  Arya didn’t think she’d ever want him to stop.  Of course, she knew they would have to stop eventually.  The other smiths would be back from their break soon.  Gendry still had work to do.  Dragon glass to forge.  And Arya had only allowed her girls a few hours before they started their training again.  War was on the horizon and they both had responsibilities to uphold, but for the time being they were only two people lost in one another’s kisses.

“Gendry?”

They froze.  Gendry stared down at her with his wide, blue eyes.  Arya tucked her lip between her teeth and held her breath, listening.

“Are you still in here?”  Jon was walking toward them.

“Shit!” Gendry hissed.

Arya was already climbing down from him and looking for an exit.  Seeing none that would avoid detection from Jon, Arya leapt over the dragon glass carts and lay down behind them.  She covered her mouth and nose and tried to breathe as quietly as she could.

Gendry grabbed her basket and shoved half a loaf of bread into his mouth.  She watched as he struggled to chew and fought a laugh at his flushed face.  If it weren’t for all the ash on him, he would be beet red.

“There you are,” Jon sighed, coming through the back archway.  Arya could see him from her spot beneath the carts.  “Why didn’t you say anything?  Got dragon glass in your ears?”

“Mmf ming.” Gendry replied.  Jon wrinkled his brow.  Gendry held his loaf of bread in the air and waggled it for Jon to see.

“Least you’re eating I suppose.”  Jon picked up a curved Dothraki blade made of dragon glass.  He twisted it experimentally in his hands.  “Sansa told me you left last night without eating anything.”

Gendry flushed again.  He swallowed the bread in his mouth and went in search of his water.  Once he found his flagon he took a few great gulps.

“I’d already eaten before.  I only went last night at your behest.” Gendry went back to his water.  A dribble leaked from the corner of his mouth and Arya found her eyes following its trail until it disappeared beneath his shirt.

“I think my sister likes you.” Jon announced.

Gendry began to choke on his water.  Jon switched the blade he was holding to his non-dominant hand and slapped Gendry on the back. 

“Calm down!” Jon told him, laughing.

“Which?” Gendry gasped as he struggled to get his breath back.

“Which sister?”

Gendry nodded.

“You met Arya.  Do you really think she likes you?  I’d be surprised if Arya liked _anyone_.”  Jon was quiet.  “I don’t even think she likes me right now if I’m honest.”

Arya lay under the carts wavering between rage, relief, and shame.  The shame hit the hardest at first.  She wouldn’t say she had been avoiding Jon.  She needed time to think.  To accept that Jon was who Bran and Sam Tarly said he was.  Arya knew it wasn’t fair to him.  If he had started treating her the same way she was treating him she’d think he hated her, too.

Then she realized what Jon had said.  His sister liked Gendry and _not_ his sister, Arya.  Her hands curled into fists.  Jon didn’t think Arya liked Gendry, but who was he to judge?  She could see a sparring session in her immediate future.

“Sansa can’t seem to shut up about you, though.  ‘Do you think Gendry will come to dinner tonight?  Do you suppose Gendry might need a new shirt?  Do you think Gendry is getting enough sleep?’ It’s exhausting.”

Arya was fuming.  If the forge fires died, the smiths could melt their metal on her.  She wondered if there were any more Dothraki that might like to fight her.  Maybe even an Unsullied.  Anything to bury this anger.

“You could do worse, you know.” Jon continued.

“Err, what?”

“Worse than Sansa.  And you’d be loads better than the last bastard boy she was married to.”

Arya was going to kill him.  There was no way in seven hells Sansa knew what he was doing.  If she did, she’d stick him in a catapult and launch his arse right on over to the Night King.  Unless Arya killed him first.  When it came to ignorance, her brothers’ knew no bounds.

“You want _me_ to marry your sister?” Gendry said.  Not ‘No way in seven hells’, not ‘Absolutely fucking not’ not anything else.  Arya barely kept her rage from bursting through her lips.

“Well, you are the son of Robert Baratheon.  Bastard son, perhaps, but your blood is just as noble as hers or mine.  When the war’s over you could relax.  You’d live here and have servants and you’d never have to work another day in your life.”

“I’m not marrying Sansa.” Gendry said.  Arya exhaled at the sureness of his words.  “And I like working.”

“Don’t say no straight away,” Jon said, unwilling to back down.  “Take some time to really think about it.  Maybe get to know her first.  You might change your mind once the fighting’s stopped.  The army of the dead has a way of making a man think more about the future and family.  If you married Sansa you’d have all that and more.”

“Jon –”

“Just think about it, will you?” Jon left before Gendry could say another word.

Arya uncurled herself from beneath the carts and stood behind Gendry.  His shoulders were heavy.  He was tense.  Ready for a fight.

“You heard all that, then?”

“Robert Baratheon’s son?”

Gendry flinched.  She wasn’t about to get into what Jon had said about Sansa.  That was a battle for another day.  The truth about Gendry’s parentage was another matter.  One she could – and would – handle.

“All this time it’s been ‘M’lady’ this and ‘M’lady’ that and _you’re_ the son of a king?”

“I’m still a bastard.”

“You’re a prince.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Just how long have you known King Robert was your father?  Did you know when the Gold Cloaks killed Yoren?”

“No!”

“Did you know at Harrenhal?”

“No, Arya –”

“Did you know when we were with the Brotherhood?”  Arya scowled.  “Did Thoros tell you?  Or Beric?”

“No.  Arya, I never lied about that.  I didn’t know until after they sold me to the red witch.  That’s why she wanted me.  ‘Power in king’s blood’ she said.”  Gendry stared down at his hands instead of looking at her.  “She made me a warm bath and when I was all clean she tied me to the bed.  She made sure she got my blood really going and then she put leeches on me.  Three leeches.  When they were good and fat with my blood, Stannis came in.  She plucked them from my body and gave them to Stannis.  He spoke three names.  One for each leech.  Then he threw them in the fire.  Every name he spoke is dead now and all that witch said was, ‘power in king’s blood.’”

“What names?”

Gendry squeezed his eyes shut.  His hands fisted in front of him.  “What?” He said, though Arya knew he’d heard her fine.

“What were the three names?  Who were they?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Liar.  Tell me.”

Gendry sighed heavily.  His big shoulders were hunched up around his ears.  “Joffrey Baratheon, Baelon Greyjoy, and….” Gendry’s jaw trembled.  She’d never seen him look so scared.  So small.  Even if he didn’t say it, she already knew.  He took a ragged breath and locked his jaw.  “Robb Stark.” Gendry whispered, his voice full of shame.  Like _he’d_ killed Robb and not that witch or Walder Frey.

“I’m going to kill her.” Arya growled.

“Her?”

“She promised we’d meet again.  She promised me when she took you.  When we do, I’m going to jam a sword so far down her throat they’ll have to bury her with it.”

Gendry looked at her at last.  “She’s on your list?”

“She can’t be on my list.  I don’t know her name.  That doesn’t mean I won’t still kill her.” Arya paused and looked at him.  “Unless _you_ want to kill her?”

Gendry smiled weakly and shook his head.   “Melisandre.” Gendry said.  “Her name is Melisandre.”

Arya paused.  “I know that name.”

Gendry squinted at her.

“She brought Jon back.”

“Brought him back from where?”

“Death.”

Gendry was quiet for a beat.  Arya worked on controlling all her residual anger.

“I’m so glad I wasn’t born into your family.  You’re all mad.”  He laughed.  “Absolutely mad.”

“I’m glad you weren’t born into my family, too.  I don’t think my hair is blonde enough for that.” Arya retorted.

All the same, Arya found herself wanting to kiss him again.  Wanting to wrap her legs around his strong hips again.  All thoughts of Jon asking Gendry to marry Sansa fled her mind.  She only wanted him.

“Do you _ever_ leave, Gendry?” Another smith called as he settled back in at the forge.

“If you’d seen what we’re up against like I have, you wouldn’t be taking such long breaks yourselves.” Gendry replied.

Arya started.  She hadn’t realized how much time she had spent there.  “Now I’m late.” She huffed.  The girls were probably all waiting for her on the pitch.

“Thank you for… well, all of it.” Gendry murmured.

“Is that Lady Arya?” One of the smiths whispered. 

“She looks like she’s been crawling in the ash.” Another one whispered.  “What sort of lady is that?”

“Isn’t she the one that….”

“Shut up!  She’ll hear you.”  A third smith hissed.

Arya frowned and looked down at herself.  She was, in fact, covered in ash and dirt.  Gendry noticed, too.  He dug into the basket and pulled out a cloth napkin.  Arya wiped her face as best she could.  The rest was unavoidable.  She started out of the forge and turned back.  Gendry looked back at her and smiled.

“You should make arrow heads out of the dragon glass.” Arya told Gendry.  “They’ll be quicker than the blades and you can make more of them.”

Gendry nodded.  “That’s a good idea.”  He frowned at the cart of finished blades.  “Really good idea.”

“I’ll see you later.”  She promised.

Gendry smiled at her again. “Later.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who doesn't like hot, secret forge make-out sessions?


	8. Wine and Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gendry drinks some wine. Sansa finds out what Jon did.

Later seemed to be more than three days by Gendry’s count.  Still, every day Arya managed to leave a basket of food for him at the forge without him noticing.  He would step outside with the other smiths and watch them go off to their plates and wait for Arya to appear, but she never did.  And yet every time he returned to his forge, the basket was already there waiting.

She was doing it on purpose.  She had to be.  The first day, Gendry thought she must have been busy and that was why she’d avoided him.  She didn’t want to be distracted and he couldn’t fault her that.  By the second day, Gendry was beginning to worry.  Now Gendry was in a right panic.  Arya was surely angry with him.  He just didn’t know what he’d done to provoke her ire. 

Other than admit that his blood had been used to kill her brother, of course.  And neglect to tell her that he was Robert Baratheon’s bastard son.  And plan to stay with the Brotherhood rather than go with her to her family.  And her brother had asked him to marry her sister.  How could he forget about that?

Gendry decided it must have had something to do with Jon’s proposal.  Or maybe it was Sansa’s proposal.  He didn’t know how those things worked amongst the highborns.  Either way, Arya should know Gendry had no intentions of marrying her sister.  He barely even _liked_ Sansa.  Sure, she had her good qualities, but she was too duplicitous for Gendry’s liking.  At least Arya said what she meant.  Sansa played little games and made him second guess every word out of his mouth. 

On the fourth day, Gendry didn’t leave the forge with the other smiths.  He kept himself focused on the metal in front of him.  He almost didn’t notice when an elderly woman shambled into the forge carrying a basket.  He only saw her when he dipped his sword into the bucket of water at his feet.  She was staring at him with odd, brown eyes.  Her hair was pulled back beneath a kerchief and her mouth was set in a deep frown.

“Did you say something?” Gendry asked, worried he’d missed something from the way she was staring.

“Just bringing you some food.” The old woman said, setting the basket down on one of the tables.  She turned to leave.

“Hold on,” Gendry called, setting his work aside.

The old woman turned back to him slowly.  She looked frail.  Like if Gendry were to touch her she’d shatter, but something in those eyes told him she was stronger than her body would have him believe.

“I’ve got a lot to get done yet, boy.  What do you need?”

“Arya – Lady Arya, she was bringing these baskets to me.  Did she ask you to do it instead?”

“Oh, what nonsense.  Lady Arya has too much else to do than worry about bringing food to a smith.” The old woman told him passively.

“Don’t lie to me.  Where is she?”

“You’d think you were some mighty lord yourself the way you’re barking orders.”

Gendry dropped his head and huffed.  “Please, ma’am, please just tell me where she is.”

“If the Lady Arya wants to see you I’m sure she will.” The woman turned to leave again.

Gendry let out a growl and swiped the blade and tongs down onto the floor.  He let himself want her.  Let him think he could have her.  Now she was off somewhere hiding away from him.  Avoiding him.  He grabbed the basket off the table and slumped against the floor to eat it.  The contents of the baskets hadn’t changed.  Surely that old woman wouldn’t bother packing some lowborn smith half a dozen sweetcakes for his lunches.  Arya had to be making them.

Gendry finished his meal and got back to his feet.  He wasn’t about to go groveling to her.  If she wanted to avoid him then he’d do the same.  He’d be damned if he let Arya get the best of him.  He swung his hammer again and again.  He could still feel the way her legs had clenched around his hips when he’d kissed her.  The feel of her tongue in his mouth.  Gendry tried to work those thoughts out of his head.  He wasn’t going to go looking for her.  He had work to do.

Gendry gave up thinking he was going to avoid her an hour after the other smiths had left for the night.  He stopped at a basin of water outside the forge and scrubbed his face and arms.  No, he wasn’t going to avoid her, but he wasn’t going to do something stupid like take a bath or put on the fancy clothes her sister had gotten for him.  A quick wash up was all she was getting.

Gendry stepped into the overcrowded hall.  He looked first at the head table.  She _was_ a Lady of Winterfell.  Gendry might not know much about the ways of the highborn folk, but he knew the Lords and Ladies were meant to sit up at the head table.  Arya never did, though.  Queen Daenerys had actually had to go sit at one of the long tables in order to talk with her.  Gendry scanned the room.  There was no sign of his tiny pain in the arse anywhere.

“So you’ve decided to grace us with you presence again, have you?” Jon said before he could leave.

“Ah, well, I thought it’d be a good idea to let you and Lady Stark see my face in the halls at least once every few days.  Save you from worrying after me.” Gendry lied smoothly.

“Speaking of Lady Stark, I think you should go have a talk with her.  Bran won’t be in for dinner tonight so you can take the seat beside her.”  Jon urged him forward.  Gendry tucked away his grimace.  Talking with Lady Stark gave him headaches.

“Sansa, look who’s here.” Jon said, proudly as if he’d had something to do with Gendry’s appearance.  “I told him he could have Bran’s spot seeing as he’s not here and the hall is full to the brim.”

Sansa nodded at her brother and gave Gendry a small, polite smile.  Gods if she wasn’t pretty.  All smooth skin and long eyelashes.  She must’ve lived her whole life expecting to marry a prince.  Gendry thought all highborn ladies grew up expecting to marry princes, but if any of them should’ve it would’ve been Sansa.  She had that regal air about her.  So why on earth would _she_ have any interest in marrying a lowborn bastard?  Unless Jon confided in her his true parentage which seemed unlikely given her attitude toward him.

Gendry sat beside her, smiling politely.  All tightlipped and demure as he’d seen all the highborns do.  More like a grimace than a smile, but that felt truer to how he felt.  Maybe that was why they did it.

“Do you drink wine, Ser Waters?” Lady Stark asked.

“Just call me Gendry, My Lady, and I don’t think I’ve had wine before, no.  Had ale though.  And mead.  Even had some rum courtesy of Thoros of Mys and Lord Beric.”

“Well, you must drink some.” Lady Stark waved her hand at one of the servants who brought over a cup and filled it halfway with wine.

Gendry didn’t mind the taste.  It was loads sweeter than the ale or the mead.  It tasted like the berries Hot Pie had found for them to eat when they were on the run from the Lannisters after Harrenhal.  Gendry finished his cup and no sooner had he set it down than the servant had filled it back up again.

“Please, drink your fill, but you mustn’t waste it.  Good wine is hard to come by these days.”  Lady Stark told him seriously.

Gendry didn’t want to waste the wine, but it seemed every time he drained his glass, more wine appeared in it.  He frowned down at the cup.  His head was becoming full of air.  His eyes were getting harder to keep open.

“So, tell me about my sister, Gendry.” Lady Stark said.

“Your sister?”

“Yes, Arya.  Tell me what it was like traveling with her and Yoren.”

“Yoren was killed by the Gold Cloaks.  Most of ‘em were killed by those Lannisters.” Gendry snarled.  He _hated_ the Lannisters.

“What happened after Yoren was killed?”

More wine.  “We got taken to Harrenhal.  Rat nearly ate through my guts.  Didn’t like that bit, but at least they hadn’t got to Arya yet.”

“What do you mean?  The rats?”  There was genuine concern in Lady Stark’s voice.  At least, Gendry thought it might be genuine concern.  He wasn’t very sure of anything at the moment.

“Mean the torturers.  They tortured us.  They killed a person every day.  That day they picked me.”

“That must’ve been terrifying.”

Gendry nodded.  “Was scared, but wasn’t goin’ to show it.  Not to them an’ not to Arya.  She was scared ‘nuff as it was.”

“Arya was scared?” She sounded like she didn’t believe it.

“Arya’s scared lots of times.  She goes ahead anyway.  More courage than anyone alive.” Gendry said.

“That doesn’t sound like the Arya I know.  She’s _never_ scared.”

More wine.  “She was scared for you, you know.” Gendry said.  Somehow he was aware he shouldn’t be saying this, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop.  “She was angry with you, too.  I could hear it when she said about her father.  Well, your father, too, suppose.  But she was also scared you’d be next.  Scared the Lannisters would take your head, too.  ‘Specially with Robb bein’ King in the North an’ all.”

Gendry set his cup down.  It wasn’t completely empty, but he couldn’t drink another drop.  He’d come here with a purpose.  Now he couldn’t remember what that purpose was.  He blinked against the low lighting.

“She talked to you about me?”

“She talked to me about all of you.  No one else to talk to.  Hot Pie didn’t even know she was a girl until Tywin Lannister took her.”

“ _Tywin_ Lannister had my sister?” Lady Stark all but screeched.  “How did she get free, then?  Why didn’t he use her against my mother and brother?”

“No, no.  He didn’t have _Arya_ he had Arry.”

“What?”

“She wasn’t Arya Stark when he had her.  She was Arry.  He just took her ‘cause… well, I dunno what he took her for he just did.”

“You two seem to be getting along.” Jon said, suddenly appearing before him.  Gendry’s head was swimming.  He didn’t know how to swim.

“Yes, Gendry is telling me the most fascinating things.” Lady Stark agreed.

Gendry soured.  He was blithering on about Arya to her sister like an idiot.  He struggled to remember what he’d said.  What he’d told her and whether it was anything that would’ve done better to keep quiet.  He glared at his cup of wine.  Sansa had tricked him into drinking more than he should and once she’d gotten him well and truly in the cup, she’d started her little interrogation.

Gendry stood up, but too quick so he had to hold himself up on the table.  Jon looked at him warily.  He took a few deep breaths and straightened back up.  He looked Jon dead in the eyes so there was no mistaking how serious he was.

“Not marrying that one, Jon.” He said, firmly.

Jon’s eyes went wide, but Gendry couldn’t sit still now.  He needed a bed or a bucket.  Both seemed most likely.  He stumbled out of the hall and towards the staircase.  He turned his head out one of the windows and threw up a barrel of wine onto the grass below.  Then, he wiped his mouth and started up the steps.

He got all the way to the top and he sat down to rest.  Only then did he notice that he had climbed the wrong steps.  This staircase didn’t lead to his wing.  He didn’t know where it led, but he knew what the corridor to his room looked like and it wasn’t this.  He leaned his head back against the cold stone and closed his eyes.  He would take a small break first and then he would work on locating his room.

* * *

 

Sansa stared after Gendry as he stumbled out of the hall.  She felt a little guilty for tricking him into drinking so much.  She watched him grab the doorframe and steady himself before taking another step.  She hoped he made it to his bed alright.  She didn’t know what she’d do if he passed out outside and ended up frozen to death.

Once the smith was out of her sight, she realized what he had said to Jon right before he’d taken off.  Sansa turned her attention to Jon who was still staring after Gendry concernedly.  If he had done what she thought he had done, she was going to wring his neck.  King in the North or not.

“What did Gendry mean when he said he wasn’t marrying that one?” She demanded.  “Did he mean me?”

“What?” Jon asked, playing stupid.

“Why would he think he needed to say that?  Did you say something to him?” Sansa pressed.

Jon looked rightfully afraid.  “Well, you talk so bloody much about him, I figured you fancied him.”

“You really don’t know anything.  I don’t _fancy_ him.  I don’t fancy anyone at the moment and even if I did, it would be none of your business.”  Sansa berated.

“Alright,” Jon said, defensively.  “So why don’t you shut up about him?  You’re always asking me about him and I heard you called him to your rooms before.”

“None of that is any of your business and just because I talk to a man doesn’t mean I want to marry him.  And, by the way, the next time I marry anyone it will be because _I_ choose to.  I’ve had enough of people forcing me into marriages I don’t want.”  Sansa looked down the table to Tyrion who was talking to Varys.

Suddenly she felt sick.  She stood up more quickly than a composed lady ought to and folded her hands in front of her.  She glared at Jon.

“I’m not marrying Gendry.  You can tell him that the next time you see him.”

Sansa started for the door, but she should have known a clean exit was unlikely.  The Dragon Queen stepped in front of her.  Her pretty face all pulled up in concern.  Sansa had to fight down her irritation.  She knew her hatred toward Daenerys was unjustified.  The woman had been nothing but kind to her since they’d met.

“Lady Stark, is everything alright?”

Sansa took a deep breath and forced herself to smile.  “Yes, Your Grace, everything is fine.  Just family squabbles.  Brothers always seem to think they know what’s best for you.”

Daenerys gave a soft smile.  “Yes, well, I know what that’s like.”

Sansa’s brows drew together.  “You do?”

Daenerys tipped her head and looked away to one of the windows.  “Yes, my brother, Viserys, sold me into marriage for an army when I was little more than a girl myself.”

“What happened?”  Sansa asked, suddenly intrigued.  There was more to the Targaryen girl than Sansa had attributed to her.

“Viserys threatened the life of me and my unborn son so my husband killed him.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”  Sansa knew the pain of losing brothers.

“Don’t be.  He wasn’t fit for the throne.  He wasn’t fit to rule anyone.”

Sansa nodded quietly.  “And… your son?  Where is he now?”

Sansa regretted the question.  She should’ve known.  No mother would start a war if it risked her child.  Daenerys’ eyes shone with grief. 

“He’s with his father.”

“Your Grace, I –”

“I’m sorry, Lady Stark, you have your own troubles.  You don’t need mine.” Daenerys smiled again, all trace of grief gone.  Though, now that she’d seen it, Sansa could tell that it was always there, tucked away.  It would seem the last Targaryen had not lived as blessed a life as Sansa had let herself imagine.

Sansa excused herself again, but she didn’t go to her rooms.  She was in need of fresh air so she made her way to the top of Winterfell.  She could see the Dothraki camp speckled with fires.  The Unsullied camp was more orderly.  The fires spaced more evenly and their tents set in neat rows. 

It surprised Sansa that she had anything in common with the Dragon Queen.  A woman who controlled two foreign armies and two dragons.  She supposed perhaps she had never really thought about it because now that she did, she found the similarities near overwhelming.  They had both lost two brothers.  Both their fathers had been killed by a Lannister.  Both had been forced into marriages they didn’t want.  They were both orphaned young and had found themselves all alone far from their homes.  And they had both found their own ways back.

Sansa caught movement at the gate.  She looked down to see Arya and Bran returning.  Sansa thought Arya and Gendry had advanced their relationship since she had told Gendry it was Arya bringing him food.  Her sister wouldn’t go through all that trouble for just anyone.  But maybe he hadn’t caught her in time.

She knew Gendry loved Arya.  Sansa could see it every time he looked at her.  It was the way Sansa used to dream of her future husband looking at her.  The way she’d often see her father looking at her mother.  How could Jon be so stupid that he didn’t see it, too?  Arya was less obvious.  Half the time even Sansa couldn’t tell what her sister was thinking.  But she knew Arya felt something for Gendry.  She’d seen it.  And the news of the food baskets she was bringing him only made her more certain.

Sansa remembered again what Gendry had said to Jon earlier.  “Not marrying that one.”  Sansa smiled.  No.  He wouldn’t marry her.  But he had undoubtedly thought about marrying Arya.  _That_ sister he would marry.  Sansa turned her gaze northward.  If they survived what was coming, convincing Arya to marry Gendry would be the first thing she did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nine more chapters I think. Maybe ten. I honestly don't know where this is going.


	9. Beds and Training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya finds Gendry. Beric and the Hound train Gendry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the bedsharing and nostalgia.

Gendry was asleep at the top of her staircase.  He snored lightly.  Arya was of the mind to leave him there, but he was in nothing save his threadbare smithy shirt.  It was laden with holes made by jumping embers.  If she left him there he’d likely catch his death.

“Gendry.” Arya said, quietly.  He snuffled at her voice and turned his head toward her.  Arya reached out and touched his shoulder.  His eyes snapped open and he snatched Arya’s hand in his.  His body locked up like he was ready for a fight.  “It’s only me Gendry.” Arya soothed.

He drooped against the wall.  He still had Arya’s hand in his, but his hold was gentler.  He ran his rough, calloused thumb over the back of her hand and smiled up at her dreamily.

“Arya,” he sighed.

“Let’s get you in a real bed.  You’ll freeze to death if you sleep out here.”

She struggled to pull him to his feet.  Once he was up he sagged heavily against her.  Arya knew where his room was, but getting there would mean walking him back down the staircase, down the corridor, up another staircase, and down another corridor.  Arya turned them both down the corridor.  Her room was closer and a lot easier to get to when dragging a half-conscious man.

“How much further?” Gendry slurred.

“How much have you had to drink?”

“Lady Stark said I couldn’t waste it.  She only wanted me drunk so she could make me tell her things.”

“What things did you tell her?”

Gendry shook his head and almost lost his precarious balance in doing so.  “Dunno.  Don’t think it was too bad.  Told her about Tywin I think.”  He sniffed.  “She didn’t like that.”

Arya could have cried with relief when they finally reached her room.  She pushed her door open and led Gendry to the bed.  Once he was sat safely on the bed, she returned to shut the door.  Gendry looked around with bleary eyes.

“This isn’t my room.”

“I know that.”

He looked at her.  “Whose is it?”

“Mine.” Arya pulled her gloves off and tossed them onto her dresser before doing the same with her cloak.  “Take your boots off.  And your shirt.  That filthy rag is not touching my clean sheets.”

“Oooh no.  No no no.” Gendry was saying, shaking his head.  “I can’t sleep here.”  He sounded like a spooked horse.  “Can’t sleep here.”

“We’ve slept together loads of times.” Arya reasoned.

She could see he wasn’t going to take his boots off himself so she knelt at the bedside and started on them for him.

“That was before.”

“Before what?”

Gendry didn’t answer, just went back to muttering ‘Oh, no.  Oh, no.’ Arya finished with his boots and took them away to set them beside hers.  His were a lot more worn than she’d thought.  She made a mental note to find him a new pair.  Maybe a pair lined in fur.  She knew he wasn’t exactly fond of the cold.

“This is a bad idea.” Gendry told her.

“Take that shirt off before you lay down there!” Arya scolded, catching him just before he made it all the way under the covers.

Gendry sat up sheepishly.  Arya went to her table and poured a cup of water for him.  She’d never seen him like this.  Sansa surely must have pressured him into drinking more than he was meant to.

Gendry finally worked up the energy to pull his shirt up over his head.  Arya’s mouth ran dry.  Working day in and day out in that forge had done wonders for his body.  He was all muscle and sinew.  Soot and grime had worked their way under his shirt and clung to his skin.  Arya was reminded of the way he’d looked in Harrenhal.  The strange flips her belly did when she saw the way his muscles moved under his skin.

“That’s not more wine, is it?” Gendry asked, snapping her out of her daze.

She looked down at her hand and remembered what she was doing.  She passed the cup to Gendry.  “It’s just water.  It’ll make you feel a little better.”

Gendry closed his eyes as he drank.  He sighed when he finished the cup and handed it back to her.  He shoved his legs under the blankets and leaned back against the pillows.

“Must remind you of Harrenhal.”

“What?” Had she been that transparent?

“You used to be Tywin Lannister’s cupbearer.  Remember?”

Arya set the cup down beside the pitcher.  She could never forget.  So many things had happened because of Harrenhal.  So many things that had made her what she was.  That had led them both to where they were.

“I’m just glad he’s dead now.”

Arya undid her belt from her waist and laid it on the chair with Needle and her dagger before she started on the stays on her tunic.  She frowned at the dying fire on the other side of the room.  She’d have to stoke it before she got into bed.  She lay her tunic across the arm of the chair.  Her undershirt hung almost to her knees so she didn’t see the point in keeping her breeches on.  Gendry’s eyes were shut anyway and she was sure he’d be asleep any second.

She padded over to the fireplace and knelt to add more logs to the fire.  Her bed was warm enough but the night was cold and had the tendency to crawl in through the windows.  Once she had a good flame going, she turned back for bed.

Gendry’s eyes were open again and he was staring at her.  She couldn’t read the expression on his face.  He looked alarmed.  Maybe Arya had made too much noise with the fire.

“It’s fine, Gendry.  Go to sleep.” She whispered.  She didn’t know what else to say, but his gaze didn’t waver from her.  Even standing so close to the fire, she felt a shiver down her spine. 

She walked back to the other side of the bed.  She wouldn’t look at him.  She couldn’t.  Not without feeling those familiar flutters.

The bed was big.  Large enough that they could fit another person between them and still never touch.  Nonetheless, Arya swore she could feel him.  Across the bed and hidden under a mound of blankets, she could feel Gendry as surely as if he were touching her.  She didn’t know how she was going to sleep.

But sleep she did.  She woke up just before dawn as she usually did.  However she woke up tangled in her blankets.  Strong arms were around her waist and Gendry’s breath was on her neck.  She turned her head slowly to look at him.  His head was on her pillow and they were both in the middle of the bed.  Arya reached up and gently brushed the back of her finger across his cheek.  He snuffled and buried his face deeper into her neck.

Arya knew she should get up.  She had training to get to.  A fleet of women she was meant to be training to defend themselves in the coming war.  The White Walkers were marching ever closer and they weren’t nearly as ready as they’d hoped to be.  Not to mention that Gendry had his own work to get to.  He had to forge the weapons they would use to kill the White Walkers.  Arya knew all this, but she couldn’t bear to drag herself from bed.  From Gendry’s strong embrace.

Gendry sniffed.  Whatever he smelled made him pull his head back.  He opened his eyes and looked at her.  Arya watched the play of emotions run across his face.  One he kept circling back to was confusion.

“Arya?” His voice was husky with sleep.

“Good morning.”

“Where’m I?”

“Winterfell.”

Gendry shut his eyes and shook his head.  “Why are we in the same bed?”

“Because it’s my room and I wasn’t going to sleep on the floor.”

“And why am I in your room?”

“Because you’re stupid and you weigh a ton.”

Gendry pulled his arms from around her and flopped onto his back.  He covered his face with his hands and groaned.  “Oh, your sister has plans to murder me I’m sure of it.”

Arya smiled.  “I won’t let her.”

Gendry peeked at her through his fingers.  He smiled.  “My hero.”

Now that Gendry’s arms weren’t holding her down, Arya sat up.  She stared down at Gendry.  The blankets had moved away so she had a clear view of his chest.  He had more bruises than she had noticed on him the night before.  All different shades.  Arya’s first thought was that they came from accidents in the smithy, but upon closer imspection she could see the welts from a wooden stick.  Welts she’d suffered herself over the years.  He was training.  Training and forging and building up all that muscle tucked up under his skin.  She wanted to touch him.  To run her hands over all that muscle and feel it for herself.

“Where’ve you been?” Gendry asked.

“Hm? What?”

“It’s been four days since I saw you last.  When you said you’d see me later I didn’t know that’s what you meant.”

Arya smiled down at him.  She’d forgotten that it had been four days since he’d last seen her.  He was mistaken in thinking it was four days since she’d seen him.  She’d even spoken to him at lunch the day before.  Not that he’d known that.  Though she had almost blown through her disguise when she’d watched him working.  He’d even caught her staring and hadn’t found it odd in the slightest.

“Did you miss me?”

Gendry rolled his eyes at her.  Arya grinned and poked him with her foot.

“Well?  Did you?”

“Yes, alright?  ‘Course I missed you.  I always miss you when you’re not around.”

Arya flushed so deeply she could feel it in her chest.  She had expected him to say something snide.  Heartfelt was not a response she was ready for.

“Not that you miss me.” Gendry continued.  “Else you’d be around more.”

“I’m always around.” Arya confessed quietly.

Gendry scoffed.  He didn’t believe her.  And why shouldn’t he?  She knew he’d been looking for her the past few days.  She’d seen him waiting.  She could’ve shown herself to him at any time and she hadn’t.  It was no wonder he thought she didn’t care.

Arya bent her head to his and kissed him.  She knew what to do now that he’d shown her.  She licked his top lip and sucked it between her teeth.  Gendry’s hands were on her waist, his head lifted up from the pillows to kiss her more deeply.  Arya let herself touch his chest.  Feel his strength beneath her hands.

Gendry rolled her over, kissing her more deeply.  Their tongues danced together.  Arya brought her hands up to his face, holding him to her.  Gendry’s hands began to roam.  One hand moved down from her waist to her leg.  Her undershirt had ridden up and she felt his rough, calloused hand on her bare thigh.  He slid his hand down to her knee before dragging it back up her leg.  Higher and higher.

Arya grabbed his hand and held it away.  She didn’t trust the strange feelings in her belly.  Different from the usual flutters.  Gendry slipped his hand out of hers and settled it back on her waist.  Arya pulled her face away to take a breath.  Gendry moved his mouth to her neck and Arya let out a gasp.  His hand was moving again, this time up toward her chest.

“Gendry,” Arya whimpered.  She hated how small her voice sounded.  Like a little girl’s.

Gendry didn’t seem to notice that she’d spoken at all.  He kept on kissing and licking any flesh he could reach.  Arya’s head was swimming.  She didn’t know what she wanted more, for him to hold her tighter or for him to stop.  His hand found her breast and she sucked in a breath.  His thumb caught her nipple.

“Gendry, stop.”

It was like she’d spoken the magic words.  Gendry’s hands disappeared from her body and his mouth from her neck.  He suspended himself over her, but he didn’t touch her.  Arya stared up at him and tried to catch her breath.  Settle her nerves.

“Did I hurt you?”

Arya couldn’t trust her voice.  Her body was begging for him to touch her again, but her mind railed against it.  She shook her head.

Gendry let out a deep breath and dropped his head.  “But I scared you.”

Arya didn’t know what to say.  She wanted to tell him that she wasn’t scared.  That she’d only told him to stop because she didn’t want him touching her like that, but it wasn’t true.  She wanted him to touch her and she wanted to touch him, but she was afraid.  She didn’t know what was going to happen if she let it go any further, but she had a feeling there would be no going back after.

Arya hated herself for that.  Not for being afraid.  She was often afraid of so many things.  She hated that she’d let her fear stop her.  Then she was angry that she _was_ afraid.  Because what did she have to be afraid of?  Gendry would never hurt her.  Not on purpose.

Gendry moved away from her and lay on his back.  He stared up at the ceiling.  He looked like he was thinking hard about something.  Arya wished she knew what it was.  Was he mad at her?  She had been the one to kiss him first and then she’d pushed him away.

“No one’s ever touched me like that before.” Arya managed. 

Gendry gave a wry laugh.  “Yeah, I gathered that much.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Gendry smiled at her.  “Did you forget who it is been kissing you?”

Arya scowled at him.  He was making fun of her.  She shoved at his shoulder as hard as she could, pushing him toward the edge of the bed.  Gendry laughed and grabbed one of her wrists.  Arya brought her knee up and caught him in the ribs before shoving him again.  He started to slip over the edge of the bed.

“Arya, wait!” He cried before she succeeded in knocking him over.  His grip on her wrist tightened reflexively and she was tugged down with him.

He grunted when his back hit the stone floor then again when Arya landed heavily on top of him.  Arya shifted over him working to right herself.  Gendry grabbed both her arms and held her away from him as best he could.  His iron grip made her squirm all the more.

“Stop moving.” He grated.

“Let go of me.”

“Arya,” he said pitifully.

She continued to squirm, struggling to get out of his hold.  Then she felt it.  Of course she’d seen plenty of naked men over the years.  She used to wash their corpses in the House of Black and White.  And when she traveled as a boy none of the men had expressed any modesty when it came to their cocks.  She’d even seen Gendry naked before.

This was something different.  This was what she’d heard the women in the brothels gossip about.  About men so eager to bury their arousal in whatever woman they could manage to find they could hardly wait for the privacy of a room.  Not Gendry.  He had gone to great pains to hide it from her.  But now, Arya could feel it pressed against her bare thigh through his pants.  She knew what it meant.

Gendry groaned and dropped her arms, covering his face.  He knew he’d already been caught.  Arya leapt away from him as if he’d burned her.  As soon as she was away from him, Gendry rolled over and put his back to her.  Arya rubbed her thigh and moved away to get her clothes.

She dressed quickly.  She knew Brienne was probably already in the yard waiting for her.  She might even be wondering where she was.  Arya was always there first.  She had to go back to the other side of the room to put on her boots.  Gendry was lying motionless on the floor.  He hardly looked like he was breathing.

Arya stopped at the door.  She thought maybe she should say something.  That she should say anything.  But what would she say?  What _could_ she say that had even the barest hope of making the situation any less uncomfortable for either of them?  Arya gave one last apologetic look at Gendry’s bare back and left for the yard.

* * *

 

Gendry was stupid.  He knew he was stupid.  He couldn’t read or write and the only numbers he knew were what he needed to sell the armor and weapons he made.  Still, he thought he had at least the barest of sense.  But evidently not.

He should have gotten out of that bed the second he realized who was in it.  He would have, too, if he hadn’t already woken up stiff as a board.  It was the smell of her, he decided.  She smelled of wind and trees and she was so warm in his arms.  It was such a stark change from how he usually slept it woke him up.

Then she started to tease him and that was his second chance.  He should have gotten out of the bed then.  He should’ve found his boots and shirt and gone straight to the forge.  Instead, Arya had leaned over him and kissed him until he lost any semblance of reasonable thought.  If only she wasn’t such a fast learner.

Then he’d gone too far.  He should’ve kept his hands still.  As wild and windswept as she was, she was still a lady.  Beautiful and untouched.  But gods Gendry wanted to touch her and he wanted her to keep touching him.  The way her hands were pawing at his chest and back he thought she felt the same.  But he’d scared her.  He had never scared her before.  He didn’t like that he had.  Then he’d scared her again.

Gendry waited until the door shut behind her before he gathered himself up.  His shirt was balled up in a pile of soot just under the bed.  He shook it out before he put it back on.  It was his last undershirt and it looked like it was on its last limb.  There were more holes in it than cloth.  He sat in the armchair and pulled on his boots.

Arya had avoided him for four days after Jon asked him to marry her sister.  Now he might never see her again.  He scrubbed his hands across his face and stood up.  He wouldn’t try to track her down this time.  He could tell he’d done enough damage on that front.

He pulled the door open and nearly walked straight into Queen Daenerys.  Gendry froze.  This looked bad anyway you turned it.  She frowned at him then looked past him and into Arya’s room.  At the unmade bed.

“Your Grace.” Gendry mumbled.

“Gendry.” She returned a hint of a smile edging its way onto her face.  “I thought your room was on the other side of the castle.”

“Oh, well, I suppose I got a little turned around last night.  It was late.” Gendry scratched the side of his head with his index finger.

“I see.”

Gendry found himself annoyed.  What was it with all these women and their fascination with making him squirm?  They never said what they meant and they always tricked him into saying things he knew he shouldn’t.  At least Arya told him when he was a dumbass so he didn’t have to guess.

“Gendry?”

His eyes darted over to Jon.  He was having a hard enough time explaining himself to Daenerys.  One look at the situation and Jon was liable to sock him on the jaw.  Gendry struggled to think of a reason for him to be there without raising the obvious suspicion.

“What are you doing in Arya’s room?”

Gendry dropped his eyes.  He couldn’t think.  There was no reason for him to be in Jon’s sister’s room so early in the morning that didn’t sound terrible.

“Apparently, your sister couldn’t find a servant so she asked him to fetch her gloves.” Daenerys told Jon.

Jon looked between them and rolled his eyes.  “She ought to know you’ve got better things to do.”

“It’s not any trouble, really.” Gendry told him, thanking Daenerys in his head with everything he had.

“You could’ve told her no.  Don’t let her intimidate you.”

“Really, Jon, it’s no trouble.  Gives me time to walk off all that wine Lady Stark got me drinking last night.”

Jon grimaced.  “Yeah, about that.  I’m afraid I have to rescind my proposal from earlier.”

Daenerys arched her brow at Jon.  “Proposal?”

“Seems I was mistaken about my sister’s interests.”

“No harm, Jon.  I told you I wasn’t interested either.” Gendry assured his friend.

Jon nodded though still looked upset at the turn of events.  “Right, well, you know where she keeps her gloves then?”

Gendry nodded.  “Yeah, she told me.  Just got to grab them.”

Gendry turned back into the room and cast his eyes around.  She hadn’t told him and he didn’t know, but Arya wasn’t exactly neat.  Her gloves were cast haphazardly onto her dresser.  Gendry snatched them up and hurried back to the door.  Jon and Daenerys were waiting for him.  He held up the gloves in his hand and Jon smiled.

“Hey, maybe Arya likes you after all.  She’s treating you like Nymeria.” Jon joked.

“Who is Nymeria?” Daenerys asked as they walked toward the stairs.

“Her dire wolf.” Gendry answered thoughtlessly.  He noticed them staring.  Jon squinted at him.  “Sansa was telling me about the Stark children and their dire wolves last night.” He lied quickly.

They reached the bottom of the stairs and finally went their separate ways with a final offer of breakfast from Jon.  Gendry checked behind him when he reached the yard before he shoved the gloves into his pocket and started for the forge.  He’d have to return the gloves at some point, but he wasn’t about to go humiliate himself again.  He’d had enough of that already.

“And where d’you think you’re goin’?” The Hound growled.  He and Beric Dondarrion were standing near the stables clearly waiting for him.

Gendry groaned.  “I don’t have time.  I have to work.”

The Hound grabbed him by the back of his neck and turned him away from the forge.  Beric laughed and slapped Gendry’s shoulder amiably.

“You asked us to train with you, remember?” Beric said.

“Yes, I remember.  But I’m already late enough as it is.”

“That’s not our fault.”

“We did go to your room to find you this morning.  You weren’t in there.” Beric prodded at him with a wooden sword.  “Where were you?  Some girl’s bed I assume?”

Gendry fought the blush he felt rising.  He just couldn’t win today.

“Can we just get this over with?”

The Hound released his neck as they reached the training grounds.  Gendry’s eyes landed immediately on Arya.  She wasn’t usually there when he was training.  The sun wasn’t usually up when he was training either.  He didn’t think she noticed him at first.  She was sparring with a woman maybe ten years older than she was.

“Watch your feet.” Arya barked before she flipped the woman onto her back and held the tip of the wooden sword at her throat.  “Dead.”  She lowered the sword and held her hand out to help the woman up.  She caught sight of Beric, the Hound, and Gendry then.

“And so one dangerous girl becomes fifty.” Beric said.  He looked over to Brienne of Tarth.  “Two becomes a hundred.”

“What are you doing here?” She demanded.

“Relax, girl,” the Hound rumbled.  “This one missed his training this morning.  Too busy in some girl’s arms to remember there’s a war coming.”

Arya glanced at Gendry and down at her feet.  She cleared her throat and looked everywhere except back at the trio of men.  “Just don’t get in our way.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, My Lady.” Beric said grandly.  “Though, it might do the lad some good to practice with a very dangerous person such as yourself.”

Arya shot another look at Gendry.  She turned away without saying anything and began to spar with another woman.  Beric began to laugh beside him.  As much as he hated the man, he couldn’t deny that his experience was invaluable.

Beric handed him a wooden sword and nodded at him to begin.  Gendry twisted the stick in his hand and held it out defensively.  Beric started at him hard.  Likely as revenge for making them wait for him.  Gendry found fighting Beric was easier than the Hound.  Beric trained by a set of rules.  He always gave Gendry a chance to catch his breath between attacks.  The Hound went at him hard and fast and unyielding.  If Beric hadn’t talked the man into using a wooden sword, Gendry would have been dead several times over.

The Hound grabbed Gendry by the collar of his shirt and whapped him in the rips with his wooden sword.  Gendry heard his shirt rip as he tumbled to the ground.  He coughed and forced himself to breathe again before struggling to his feet.  The Hound didn’t wait before going after him again.

“Stop that!” He heard Arya shout.

“What?  Did we get in your way, wolf girl?” The Hound snapped.

“Beating him senseless like that isn’t training him to do anything except take a beating.  You should be teaching him how to survive.” She argued.

Gendry flopped on the ground and shut his eyes.  He was equal parts embarrassed and annoyed.  She was strong, there was no mistake, but she didn’t have to flaunt it all the time.  She was better at sword fighting than he was, but he was better with a hammer.  Only problem was hammers don’t cut and White Walkers needed to be cut with dragon glass in order to be killed.

“I thought you didn’t want to train him, little lady.” Beric said.  He reached down and pulled Gendry to his feet.

“I don’t.” She said quickly.  “But if you’re going to teach him, teach him right.”

“Stop talking about me like I’m not here, would you?”

“I’m trying to help.”

“Well, I don’t need it.  Do I?  I’ve already got two people trying to teach me.  What’s a third going to do?”

“Fine.  Get your arse kicked all you want then.” Arya snapped.

“I give as good as I get!” Gendry argued.

“Not from where I’m standing.”

“Then move!”

“You stupid, bull-headed boy!”

“Moo.”

“Oh for the love of, will you two just fuck and get it over with?” the Hound grumbled.

“Watch it, Clegane.  She’s still a lady even if she could kill you sure as blinking.” Beric warned.

“So what?  Even lords and ladies need to fuck sometimes.”  The Hound nodded at Gendry.  “It isn’t like the bastard doesn’t know where to stick it.”

“Ah, gods, just shut up!” Gendry cried.

“Oh, ‘shut up’ now, is it?” The Hound crowed.  “Big man now the ladies are watching.” He smacked his wooden sword against Gendry’s arm.  Gendry smacked him back.  The Hound grabbed Gendry’s sword and yanked it out of his hand and used the end of it to shove Gendry back onto the ground.

“Clegane,” Beric said warningly.

“Shut up, Beric.  You know good as I do this boy’s been aching to fuck the wolf girl since that cave the Brotherhood had them holed up in.  Probably even before that.”

Gendry let out a snarl and barreled headlong into the Hound.  It was stupid, he knew.  But Gendry had already done a great number of stupid things that day so he figured, why stop now?  The Hound twisted Gendry around until he was wrapped in a headlock sucking in as much air as the big oaf would let him.  Beric began smacking the Hound with his wooden sword.

“Maybe _you’re_ the one that needs a woman, Clegane.  You might mellow out.”  Beric said.

Gendry stopped struggling in the Hound’s arms long enough to see Arya being led from the training grounds by Missandei.  He hadn’t even noticed the queen’s adviser approach them.  He wondered how much she’d heard.

“C’mon, let the boy go.  He’s got weapons to forge yet.”

The Hound squeezed tighter around Gendry’s neck before releasing him and shoving him away to catch his breath.  Gendry scowled at the Hound.  If he’d had his hammer they would’ve been more evenly matched.  Maybe.

“Go on, boy.  Go to your forge.” The Hound barked.

“Don’t be late tomorrow.  I’m not fond of waiting in the cold when I could be drinking myself blind.” Beric warned.

Gendry stomped away looking around as casually as he could to see where Arya might’ve gone off to.  He was relieved when he made it to his forge.  He may have been stupid in a lot of areas and he may have had them all on display that morning, but at least he knew his trade.  He could swing a hammer as good as any smith and better than most.  He could almost swing it hard enough to drive out the thoughts of Arya Stark.  Almost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Gendry is supposed to be getting a mace in Season 8 but sword training has endless possibilities.   
> Also, I really do enjoy letting Jon get so close to the truth only to brush it away without a second thought.


	10. Questions and Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya is invited to eat with Sansa, Daenerys, and Missandei. Awkwardness and embarrassments ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rewrote this chapter so many times I actually have no idea what I left in and what I changed anymore. Sorry for any errors you might stumble across. I tried my best!

He always made her so mad.  All she was trying to do was help him out.  She’d seen the bruises he was littered with earlier that morning.  She knew the Hound was a brute.  She’d seen him do horrible things to good people, but he was doing those horrible things to Gendry now and she couldn’t stand by that. 

And _he_ had the gall to yell at her for it.  She stopped him from getting his arse kicked and _he_ yelled at _her_.  She could just throttle him.  The stupid, bull-headed boy.  And then the Hound had to open his fat mouth.  She could kick all three of them squarely in the pants.  It’d be so easy.  So therapeutic.  Stupid men.  Stupid, stupid men.

“Arya?” Missandei called from behind her.

She was still on the edge of walloping the trio.  “What is it?”

“Queen Daenerys has requested that you join her for the midday meal.  I can see you are busy.  Shall I tell her you cannot make it?”

Arya looked past the men to where Brienne was training Podrick.  The boy was even more hopeless than her girls.  He had been training with Brienne for over a year and was still just as much of a clumsy fool as he’d ever been.  Every time he dropped his sword she wanted to hit him.  Every time he took his eyes off his opponent she wanted to hit him harder.  And every time he dropped his guard and swung his sword wildly she wanted to hit him.  Watching from a distance, Arya could actually see his improvement.  He was a far cry from decent, but he didn’t drop his sword so much.  He kept his eyes on her eyes and not her hands.  It was slow, but Arya could appreciate that he was, in fact, learning.

“No, it’s alright.  I’ll come.” Arya told her, turning away from the training grounds.

She tossed one last glance over her shoulder at Gendry.  She narrowed her eyes.  The Hound now had him in a headlock and he was squirming like a worm on a fish hook.  Beric was slapping the Hound repeatedly with his wooden sword and shouting at him.  Arya rolled her eyes and followed Missandei into the castle.

Daenerys and Sansa were both seated at the table in the queen’s chambers.  Missandei waited for Arya to enter the room and closed the door behind her.  There were two seats left at the table.  One had the back facing the door.  The other was to the right of Daenerys and offered a clear view of both the windows and the door.  Arya chose that seat.

Missandei stood behind the other chair and looked between Arya and Daenerys.  Clearly the seat had been meant for the queen’s advisor and friend.  Arya felt a glimmer of guilt, but not enough to overpower her need to keep both exits in sight.  Even with two Unsullied sentinels inside the room and two Dothraki sentinels out in the hall.  Missandei caved at last and took the last available seat.

“I’m glad you could join us, Lady Arya.  I know how busy you are.” She gestured to the table.  “Please, help yourself.”

“The girls left for lunch.  They need more time than the men since they’re the ones that are doing the cooking.” Arya explained, grabbing a warm roll from a platter and popping a piece into her mouth.

“How is the training coming along?  Are the women improving?”

“They are.  They’ve all come twice as far as Podrick and he’s been training for years.” Arya joked.

“Arya,” Sansa said tiredly.  Arya rolled her eyes at her sister.

“I didn’t say he was terrible.  I only said my girls are better.”

Daenerys smiled.  “As they should be.”

“Arya, do you remember Lyanna Mormont?” Sansa asked.

“She was here a month ago.” Arya reminded her sister, annoyed.

“Right, well, she heard you were training the women and she’s requested to have you train her as well.”

Arya shrugged.  “There’s a hundred girls down there now.  I don’t see what harm one more would do.”

“Oh, she couldn’t train with the others.  She’d have private lessons, of course.” Sansa said.

“Then my answer is no.”

“What?”

“I don’t have time for private lessons when there’s a hundred more women that need training every day.”  Arya grabbed another roll and a chunk of cheese.

“She’s Lady Mormont.” Sansa said.

Arya shrugged.  “So what?  I can train one little girl or I can train an army.  I don’t have time for both and we need an army.”

“You make a good point.  Would Lady Mormont be open to train with the rest of Arya’s girls?” Daenerys asked Sansa.  Sansa shook her head.

“I don’t know.” Sansa frowned.  “I suppose I’ll have to ask her when she gets here.”

“The wooden swords you use are quite large.” Missandei said.  “But your own sword is so small and thin.  Don’t you think the girls would benefit from learning with smaller blades?  Especially the smaller ones?”

“My sword is custom made and it won’t be very useful against the White Walkers.  I’ll be using the same blades as everyone else when the time comes.”

“Where _did_ you get your sword?” Sansa asked.  “I’ve always wondered.  Mikken wouldn’t have made Lord Stark’s daughter a sword without his permission.”

Arya fiddled with the hilt.  She didn’t see any reason to keep the secret any longer.  Nobody was alive that would or could punish Jon.  “Jon had Mikken make it for me.  I don’t suppose he told him who it was for.  Maybe he assumed it was for Bran to practice with.”

“Did Father know?”

Arya shrugged and snagged a sweet roll.

“Couldn’t you ask your smith friend to make smaller swords from the dragon glass for you and the other women?” Daenerys suggested.

“Gendry?  He’s busy enough as it is.”

“He didn’t seem that busy this morning.”

Arya paused in her chewing and eyed the silver haired queen.  She swallowed what was in her mouth.  “How should I know what he was doing this morning?”

Daenerys grinned at her.  “Well, he was coming out of _your_ room for one thing.”

Sansa gaped at her with wide, blue eyes.  Arya scowled at them both.

“What was Gendry doing in your room this morning?” Sansa demanded.

“Judging from the look of things, I’d say he slept there.”

Arya was going to kill that idiot.  She swore that was the last time she went out of her way to be nice to him.

“Did you sleep with him?” Sansa asked.

“Only because _you_ got him drunk.”

“What does that have to do with it?”

“Because he couldn’t find his way to his own room.  And I couldn’t let him sleep at the top of the stairs.”

“So you slept with him?” Sansa repeated.

“I couldn’t drag him all the way back down the stairs and up the stairs for the other wing.  I’m not _that_ strong.”

“When you say you slept with him, do you mean you actually slept?” Daenerys piped in.

Arya squinted at her.  “Of course.  Does that mean something different where you’re from?”

Daenerys looked between Sansa and Missandei and then all three of them burst out laughing.  Arya curled her hands into tight fists on her lap.  She didn’t appreciate being the butt of any joke let alone ones that she didn’t understand.

“Sorry,” Daenerys said, “I just really didn’t expect something so innocent from you.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Oh, well….” Daenerys looked at Sansa for help.

“Have you ever been bedded?” Sansa asked.

Arya felt herself blush.  “That’s none of your business.”

“I think not.” Sansa declared.

“You shared a bed with a man and he did not touch you?” Missandei said.  Arya could hear confusion and intrigue in her words.

“Gendry and I slept by each other all the time when we traveled together.”

“But you were pretending to be a boy.” Sansa said.  “It’s different now don’t you think?”

Arya frowned.  “Gendry said the same thing.”

“But he still didn’t touch you?” Missandei persisted.  “He didn’t even try?”

Arya looked down at her lap.  Gendry _had_ touched her, but only after she had touched him.  Hours later her body was still craving his touch.  She could still feel his hand on her thigh.  The heat of his hand over her breast through her undershirt.  His mouth on her neck.

Arya could lie.  She could lie easily and well.  One of many things she learned at the House of Black and White.  She could tell them that Gendry was a perfect gentleman.  That he stayed on his side of the bed.  That he didn’t stir when she got dressed for the day.  She could, but that wouldn’t get her the answers she desired.

“Only after I kissed him.” Arya admitted.

“You kissed him?” Sansa squealed.

Arya rolled her eyes.  “Get over it.”

Sansa slackened.  “Have you kissed many men?”

“No.”

“Who was your first kiss?” Daenerys asked.

“Why am I being interrogated?” Arya demanded, defensively.

The three women looked at each other.  Daenerys gave a small, conceding shrug.

“My first kiss was with my husband, Khal Drogo.”

“Husband?” Arya repeated.

“Yes, he died some years ago now.”

“Sorry.  Losing people is never easy.” Arya told her.  Daenerys gave her a weak smile and let the matter drop.

“My first kiss was Joffrey.” Sansa admitted with a grimace.

“Was he not a good kisser?” Missandei asked.

“Oh, her beloved Joffrey was a liar and a psychopath.” Arya announced.

Sansa glowered at her.  “Yes, _thank you_ , Arya.”  She looked at Missandei.  “He was cold and cruel and if he hadn’t been poisoned at his own wedding I’m certain he would have become an even worse king than the Mad King himself.” Sansa let out a small gasp and turned to Daenerys.  “I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.”

Daenerys smiled patiently and shook her head.  “All my life I have had to hear about the atrocities my father committed.  I am under no illusions about him.”

The table was quiet for a full minute.  Missandei finally broke the silence.

“My first kiss was with Master Kraznys.”  She offered.  “Of course, that was my first time with a man as well.”

“Your master?”

“I was a slave in Essos before Daenerys bought me and freed me.” Missandei explained.

“How old were you?”

Missandei stared at the cup in her hands.  “I was five years old when they stole me from Naath.” She looked over at Daenerys who smiled at her reassuringly.  “But that is all in the past now.  Come, let’s hear about you.”

All three pairs of eyes turned to Arya.

Arya huffed.  “Gendry.”

“I knew it.” Sansa said triumphantly.  “You wouldn’t have gotten so excited if nothing had happened between you two.”

Arya frowned in confusion.  “What are you talking about?  When was I excited?”

“At the feast the night Daenerys and Jon came home.” Sansa explained.  “You practically tackled the poor boy.”

Arya shook her head.  “I only kissed him the first time a few days ago.”

“What?”

“You say you traveled with many men for months.  You even traveled with Gendry for over a year, but you didn’t have your first kiss until this week?” Daenerys said, slowly.

Arya shrugged.  “The Hound said it was ‘cause I’m ugly.”

“Sandor Clegane told you you were ugly?” Sansa repeated.

“It worked out fine for me.  _You_ wouldn’t have been able to disguise yourself as a boy with your pretty face.”

Sansa frowned.  “You aren’t ugly, Arya.”

“Did Gendry ever tell you he thought you were ugly?”

Arya picked up another roll and toyed with it between her hands.  She shook her head.  Gendry had never told her she was pretty, either.  Maybe it didn’t matter to him.  He was kissing her instead of Sansa.  Even after Jon had asked him to marry his pretty sister.

“Has he ever told you he thinks you’re pretty?” Missandei asked.

“No.” She answered distractedly.  “Hey, Sansa, did you know Jon proposed to Gendry on your behalf?”

Sansa scowled.  “I already told him it wasn’t going to happen.”

“You told Jon?”

“And Jon told Gendry this morning.” Daenerys supplied.  “Which reminds me, Jon caught Gendry coming out of your room this morning, too.  I said you’d asked him to fetch you something from your room.  I didn’t think he should find out that way.  He would’ve jumped to the same conclusions I did.”

“Thank you.” Arya told her earnestly.

Arya filled her cup with wine and sat back in her seat.  The ladies ate peacefully for a few minutes.  Once again, the silence was broken by Missandei.

“Why have you not bedded him yet?”

“What?” Arya nearly choked on her wine.

“Forgive me.  Westerosi culture is very different from what I am used to.”

“They aren’t married yet.” Sansa explained.

“Yet?  We aren’t getting married.”

“You’re not?”

“No.” Arya said firmly, though a tiny nudge of possibilities entered the back of her mind.  “I don’t think I’m very well suited to marriage.”

“Do you want to bed him?” Daenerys asked.

Arya shrugged.  “Maybe?”

“But what if you get pregnant?” Sansa cried.

“There is a tea you can drink that will prevent a woman from conceiving.  The slave girls and brothel whores drink it all the time.  I can make it for you.” Missandei offered.

Arya shook her head.  “I don’t think I’ll need that.”

“It’s good to have just in case.  What if you share a bed again and become intimate?” Missandei reasoned.

“No, I just meant....” Arya sighed.  “I don’t think I’ll be able to have children.”

The table grew silent again.

“Why do you think that?” Daenerys asked carefully.

“Is it because of what happened to your stomach?  Have you asked a maester?” Sansa asked.  “I know you were used to Maester Luwin, but Maester Wolkan is actually very good.”

“What happened to your stomach?” Daenerys asked concernedly.

Arya glared across the table at Sansa.  “It’s nothing.”

“It isn’t nothing.” Sansa argued.  She looked at Daenerys and opened her mouth. 

“Drop it.” Arya ordered before her sister could say more than she ought.

“You brought it up.”

“I don’t want to drink any tea.” She looked at Missandei abashedly.  “Sorry.”

Missandei shook her head and smiled softly.  “It was only a suggestion.”

Arya was on the verge of leaving, her curiosities be damned.  She didn’t think she could bear anymore humiliation.  And she couldn’t think of any way to phrase her question that wasn’t completely embarrassing.  She drained her cup of wine and set it on the table.

“Does it really hurt?” She asked, bluntly.

All three women stared at her again.  Arya knew they were judging her.  Sansa used to always treat her like an idiot when it came to those sorts of things.  But that was before.  Arya suspected Sansa assumed her little sister had learned, well, anything in regards to romantic entanglements.  And she had.  Sort of.

Arya cleared her throat.  “It’s just, I’ve heard sort of conflicting reports.  The ladies I overheard in King’s Landing always implied that it was a painful experience.  Even some of the girls I met in Braavos said it was unpleasant.  But I have heard women who say they enjoyed it.  I’m just wondering which is true.”  Arya peeked up at Sansa.

Her sister had a pained look on her face.  She licked her lips and folded her hands on her lap.  “I don’t think I’m the most reliable person to ask.  At any rate, it’s bound to hurt less than being stabbed in the stomach.”

“But you’ve done it, haven’t you?  Two husbands.  You must’ve.”  Arya reasoned.

Sansa glared at the table.  “Tyrion never touched me.  And Ramsay, he wanted it to hurt me.”

Arya chewed at her cheek.  Not for the first time, she wished Ramsay Snow was still alive that she might kill him all over again.

“In that case, I don’t believe I would be the best to answer that question, either.” Missandei announced.

“Well, once I learned how to do it properly I’ve found the act quite enjoyable myself.” Daenerys offered.

Arya squinted at her.  “Properly?  So there is a wrong way to do it?”

Daenerys started to speak again, but shook her head slowly.  Arya watched the woman take a long sip from her wine.  “All you need to know is to look him in the eyes.  Love comes in at the eyes.”

Arya frowned.  She had made a mess of her roll, tearing it into tiny shreds and littering the table with the crumbs.  At least she felt prepared in the event that she ever saw Gendry again.  She wanted a polite way to excuse herself from the room.  Arya had never gossiped with women like that before.  She didn’t know what the proper procedure was for when you wanted to leave.  Especially not when one of those women was the queen.  Fortunately for her, she could hear the heavy footsteps of Brienne just outside the door.

“Brienne is here.” Arya announced just as the door opened and the woman walked in.

“My ladies, You Grace, please forgive my intrusion.”

“It’s no intrusion, My Lady.” Daenerys assured her looking at Arya curiously.

“What is it?” Sansa asked.

“I need to ride for Moat Cailin.” Brienne announced.

“Moat Cailin?” Arya repeated.  “That’s at least a day’s ride away.”

“I know, My Lady, but it really can’t be helped.  With your permission I would leave and be back here in three days’ time.”

“What about the women you’re training?” Sansa asked.  “You would leave my sister all alone to train them all?”

“It’s alright.” Arya waved away the concern.  “I can always make Beric and the Hound help me out since they seem to be so found of teaching.”

“Are you sure, My Lady?” Brienne confirmed.

Arya nodded.  “Go.  Be back as soon as you can.  Bran says the White Walkers are just north of Last Hearth now.”

“Oh, but take Podrick.” Sansa added.

“Yes, My Ladies.  Your Grace.” Brienne nodded to the table at large and excused herself from the room.

Arya set aside her breadcrumbs and stood.  “On that note, I had better get back.  Without Brienne around, the girls will have no one there to teach them.”

“Oh, don’t forget to take something for Gendry!” Sansa called.

Arya scowled at her.  “I’m not taking him anything today.”

“No?”

“Good-bye, ladies.” Arya told them as she walked out the door.

Arya immediately regretted telling Brienne to go ahead to Moat Cailin.  Training the women had been hard enough with two sets of hands.  Now it seemed near impossible.  She couldn’t supervise all the paired off matches at once which meant that many of those women were getting away with sloppy footwork or common mistakes with no correction.  Once they became comfortable with their errors it would be near impossible to correct.

She called the training an hour earlier than usual and determined that she would insist upon the Hound and Beric lending a hand over the next few days.  In the waning hours of the day, she picked up a bow and began practicing.  With only one instructor, they couldn’t divide up the girls for archery lessons.  Arya hadn’t seen Anguy at Winterfell, but she determined to ask Beric after him.  His archery experience would be invaluable.

When she finally exhausted herself of training, she noticed the yard was completely empty.  The moon glistened on the snow.  It was peaceful.  The Winterfell of her youth.  She shut her eyes and let herself remember.  The smell of the cold wind.  The sounds of her brothers playing.  Her mother’s good-natured scolding.  Her father’s laughter.

A rhythmic clanging started up to her left.  Arya opened her eyes and frowned at the forge.  She knew there was only one smith that would be working long after the sun had set.  Arya wandered closer.  She watched him through one of the windows as she passed.  She made her way to the entrance and crept to the back.

Arya leaned against the archway to watch him work as she’d done the day before.  This time, she wore no disguise.  Gendry had forgone his shirt again.  Arya remembered the sound of it ripping that morning when the Hound had beat him to the ground.  She didn’t suppose he had another spare.  It was cold.  Even in the forge and she knew Gendry couldn’t bear the cod well.  She was already having new boots made for him, she could just as easily get him a new shirt.

For the time being, however, Arya appreciated the view.  He turned his broad, finely muscled back to her to heat the blade again.  It was a great sword from the look of it.  He went back and forth between Dothraki blades and Westerosi swords.  He hadn’t noticed her yet.  He set the blade on the anvil and struck it with his hammer over and over before dipping it into the trough.  He held it up and examined it in the low light.  It look like a sword.

Gendry set the blade on a table with twenty other swords and went to a pile of dragon glass.  He rolled a few chunks around before selecting one.  He seemed to realize he wasn’t alone as he stood back up.  He turned to her slowly.  His expression was unreadable.  She could see he didn’t look outwardly happy to see her.  He set the rock back on the pile and wrinkled his nose at the ground.

“Are you angry with me?” Arya asked to get it out of the way.

Gendry shook his head, but his eyes were still on the ground.  She wasn’t convinced.

“I shouldn’t have overstepped this morning.”

Gendry sniffed.  “I’m not angry with you, Arya.”

“Then why don’t you look at me?”

Gendry turned his head to the window and chewed at his bottom lip.  Arya couldn’t decide if she wanted to kiss him or punch him.  He sighed heavily.  His big shoulders sagged and he looked at her at last.

Arya’s heart was thudding in her ears.  She crossed the space between them and leapt up to catch his mouth with her own.  She locked her legs around his waist and curled her fingers into his shoulders.  Gendry’s strong arms wrapped around her.  He walked them toward the table littered with newly finished blades.  Arya slipped her hands from around his shoulders to his chest.

Gendry’s hand was in her hair, nice and gentle.  She wasn’t used to the gentle, affectionate way he played in her hair.  Whenever people fussed over her hair as a child it was usually the nurses and handmaidens ripping brushes through her gnarled knots.  Later, people would grab her hair during fights.  Arya didn’t like either of those people touching her hair.  She liked Gendry touching her hair, though.

“We should go inside.” Arya gasped.

Gendry stilled beneath her.  He pulled his head back to look at her.  “Inside?” He repeated.

“You’ll freeze out here.  You don’t even have a shirt on.”

“I’m warm enough.”

Arya shook her head.  “We should go inside.”

Arya slithered away from him and toward the exit to the forge.  She was almost outside when she looked back and saw that Gendry wasn’t with her.  She went back and saw him standing with his back to her.

“Gendry?”

He jumped at her voice.  “Thought you were going inside.”

“I thought you were coming with me.”

Gendry shook his head.  “I should stay here and work.”

“Gendry,” Arya said, more insistently.  “Come with me.”  She held out her hand to him.

Gendry looked at her hand like it was a snake that was going to bite him the second he got close.  His eyes went to Arya’s face so she smiled at him.  Gendry slid his hand into hers and let her lead him from the forge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's up later than usual. I'm honestly still not satisfied with it, but what can you do?


	11. Love and Other Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gendry and Arya bicker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Six days!!

Gendry had taken a massive blow to the head.  It was absolutely the only reasonable explanation.  He was bare chested and hardly felt the bitter cold as they marched through the snow.  He could only focus on the way her hand felt in his hand.

He wasn’t paying attention to where she was taking him.  She could have led him to the butcher’s block for all he cared.  Still, when she finally stopped Gendry looked around in confusion.  She let go of his hand and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Are you going to open the door?” She asked.  Gendry scrunched his face up in confusion.  They were standing outside his bedroom door.  Wherever he thought she was taking him, his room hadn’t even made the list.  “I can pick the lock, you know.”

“What?” Gendry shook himself.  “Oh, uh, here.”  He turned the handle and pushed the door open.  A deep frown wove its way over her face.

“You don’t lock your door?”  She demanded as she stepped inside.

Gendry shrugged.  “It’s not like I have anything of value for people to steal.”

“No secret letters to keep hidden away, then?” She said lightly.  Something in her voice spoke to more behind it.

“What would I do with a letter?” Gendry asked.  “Can’t read the scribbles and I can’t write an answer.”

Arya was quiet as she walked through his room.  It was about half the size of Arya’s.  Gendry heard footsteps in the corridor so he shut the door.  Arya glanced over at the sound of the latch clicking into place and away again.  She touched a dagger he had on his dresser.  It was small.  Barely the length of his hand and thin enough to be tucked away in his bracers.  She picked it up and twirled it around in her hands before setting it back down.

“Did you ever think about learning?”

“Learning to read?”

She nodded and moved on to examine his empty pitcher of water.

“What would I need to do that for?  Who’d write to me?”

Arya wrapped her hand around one of the bannisters for his bed.  He watched her tug a corner of the blanket down.  He should’ve at least made his bed.  “I would.  And you could have written to me and let me know that you weren’t dead.”

Gendry forced a light laugh.  “What would you need to write me for?  You ever want to yell at me I’m right across the yard.”

Arya smiled.  “I can now, but what happens after the war?  You won’t have any reason to stay here then will you.” 

Gendry’s face dropped.  He didn’t think that far ahead.  Not in any specific detail anyway.  He just assumed that now that they’d found each other again they wouldn’t be parted.  He realized now how foolish that had been.  Apparently his stupidity had not set with the sun.

“I’ll have you, won’t I?”

Arya looked nervous.  “You’d stay in the North for me?”

Gendry shrugged.  “Only so long as you’re here.”

Arya smiled sadly.  “What if I can’t stay here?”

Gendry wrinkled his brow.  “What?  Like in Winterfell?  If you want to back to King’s Landing I’ll go with you.  If you want to go to Dorne or High Garden.”

“What if I can’t stay in Westeros?”

“Never been to Essos before, but I’m sure they need smiths there, too.”

Arya sat on his bed, a small smile playing on her lips.  Her hair really had gotten long.  It fanned out over the blanket.  The candle lights danced on it reminding Gendry of the way the sun had come through the trees when they were traveling north.  Or west, but intending to go north.

“What if I wanted to go west?”  She laced her fingers over her stomach.  “Do you ever wonder what else is out there?”

“I don’t know what you mean.  Only thing I known of that’s west from here is the Iron Islands.”

“Because that’s where all the maps stop.  What if there’s more out there?  Other places with different people who have never heard of White Walkers or the Seven Kingdoms or Iron Thrones.”  She tipped her head back so she was looking at him upside down.  “Would you go with me then?  Even if the only thing out there is the end of the world?”

Until Tobho Mott had kicked him to the curb, Gendry hadn’t thought about life outside of the Street of Steel in King’s Landing.  Until Yoren was slain by Gold Cloaks and Lannisters that wanted to kill _him_ , Gendry hadn’t thought about much outside of the King’s Road and the Wall.  Until he met Arya, he hadn’t thought about Winterfell at all. 

“I left you behind once already.  Didn’t care for it.  You could run off and live in the woods with the wolves and I’d learn to howl.”

Arya rolled over onto her belly and sat up until she was on her knees on the bed.  He watched her hands undo her belt from around her hips.  She settled it carefully on the floor beside the bed.  Gendry watched her move toward him and reached out her hand.  Gendry didn’t hesitate like he had at the forge.  He slipped his hand into hers easily.

He let out a grunt as Arya tugged him down onto the bed and quickly moved so that she was seated on his lap.  She kissed him, nice and slow.  Her hands floated around his body like summer rain.  He kept his hands settled squarely on her waist.  He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

“Gendry.” She said in his ear.  Gods she was going to make him lose his mind.  “Touch me, too.” She breathed.

Gendry was positive his heart had stopped.  He was dead.  The Hound had killed him that morning and he just didn’t realize it yet.

“Like you did this morning.” Arya said, kissing him again.

“I don’t want to scare you.”

Arya leaned back on his lap and looked him dead in the eyes.  “You don’t scare me.”

Gendry laughed lightly.  “Well, you scare me.”

Arya frowned.  “I might not know what to do, but I trust you.”

Gendry swallowed and looked down between them.  “We can’t.”

“Why not?”  She tilted her head at him.  “Do you not want to?”

“I’m a man, aren’t I?” Gendry told her dryly.  “But you’re a lady.  You’d be, uh,” What was it that Tobho Mott had said to him?  “Soiled?  Uh, ruined?  Something.  High Lords only want to marry virginal ladies.”

Arya soured.  “Who said I was marrying anybody?”

 _Uh-oh_.  “No, I meant, uh, well what if you wanted to some day?  You’d get stuck with some dour old man or something.”

Arya slid off his lap and stood near the door.  Gendry knew then that he wasn’t dead.  Ghosts couldn’t put their foots in their mouths quite like he had.  Maybe it was the wine from the day before that had made him wake up with nothing but stupidity for the day.

“I thought you were going to stay with me from now on.  Anywhere I go.  What’s this about me marrying High Lords now?” She demanded.

“No.  That was a stupid thing to say.” Gendry tried.

“Which part?”

“Uh, the marriage part?”

Arya looked at the door.  Gendry jumped to his feet.

“The whole thing then?  Forget everything I said.  I’m stupid.  Don’t listen to me.  I can’t even read.” He joked.

Arya narrowed her eyes up at him.  “So you _don’t_ want to stay with me?  All that about learning to howl was a lie?”

Gendry considered his dagger on the dresser.  How easy would it be to stab himself in the heart and be done with it?  Maybe he could just carve it out and hand it to her.

“Gods, you drive me mad sometimes.” Gendry told her.  “The whole bit about the marriage was stupid, I know.  I wasn’t really thinking, but I just remembered all that talk Tobho Mott used to tell me.  How whenever ladies came to the shop with their fathers I was meant to bow and call them M’lady and give them whatever they wanted, but that I wasn’t to touch ‘em.”

“That was before you knew you were a king’s son.” Arya said.  “Really it’s the lords and ladies that should be bowing to you.”

“Yeah, maybe if he raised his bastards like your father raised his.”

A strange look flickered over Arya’s face.  She tucked it away quickly, but it had been there long enough to make Gendry wonder.

“I think I should probably go.” Arya said, quietly.

Gendry cursed himself.  If he’d just kept his mouth shut and done as he was told, he’d still have her in his arms.  He’d still be kissing her.  He was an idiot.  He’d started the day an idiot and he was going to end the day an even bigger idiot.

He watched the door shut behind her before flopping back onto his bed.  He wasn’t going to be able to sleep.  Not when he knew he’d just blown his biggest chance with Arya Stark.  Oh, how she’d kissed him!  He could feel the phantom memory of her touch frozen into his skin like ice.

He stood up and went to the door.  He’d apologize again and beg her to let them start over.  Forget he’d ever said a word about marriage or high borns.  Just let him hold her again.  Gods how he wanted to hold her again.   He opened the door and there she was, raising her hand to knock.

“I forgot Needle.” She explained.

Gendry drew her in and shut the door, pressing her back against it as he kissed her.  Arya relaxed so completely under his touch.  She undid the fastenings on her cloak and Gendry took it from her hands and dropped it on the floor.  He should’ve found a hook to hang it on, but that would’ve required him to stop kissing her and he wasn’t doing that again.

Gendry pulled her over to the bed and sat down.  Arya crawled onto his lap again, kissing him deeply.  He shifted beneath her.  He hadn’t been lying when he told her he didn’t want to scare her again.  The way she’d acted that morning you’d think what was in his pants could bite her. 

Arya’s hands were working at the stays on her tunic.  Gendry set his hands to helping her.  She sighed in relief against his mouth when the tunic finally fell to the floor.  Gendry didn’t have to be asked this time.  He slid his hand down over her hip and wrapped his long fingers around her thigh.  She was still in her breeches, but he could remember how her skin had felt.

Arya moved her mouth away to his neck.  If he hadn’t been hard before, he was frozen steel at that point.  He let out a rumble that came from somewhere deep in his chest.  A primal response to her touch.  Arya pulled her head back and kissed his lips again.

“You taste like ashes.” She told him with a smile.

Gendry nipped at her neck.  “Some of us work for a living, princess.”

She giggled.  Gendry grinned to himself.  He didn’t think he’d ever heard Arya giggle before.  He thought it might have been because boys don’t giggle, but Arya didn’t laugh often.  She was always angry or serious.  Not that she didn’t have reason to be.  Nine times out of ten, somebody was trying to kill her.  Or use her as ransom.  But Gendry had made her giggle.  Nothing he ever did for the rest of his life would make him feel so proud.

Gendry tugged down the collar of her undershirt giving him access to her collarbone.  Arya wriggled in his lap.  Gendry pulled at her undershirt, lifting it up.  Suddenly, Arya went bone still.  She stopped Gendry’s hands.  Gendry looked at her questioningly, surprised at the fear he saw in her eyes.

“Is this bad?” He asked.

Arya looked down and pressed a hand to her stomach.  “It’s… I don’t want you to look at me.”

Gendry dropped her undershirt.  “Oh.  Okay.”

“It’s not just you.  I don’t want anyone to see.”  She said quickly.

“See what?”

Arya squeezed her eyes shut.  Gendry reached up and brushed his knuckles across her cheek.  He buried his fingers in her soft hair and rubbed small circles over her cheek with his thumb.

“It’s okay, Arya.  You don’t have to tell me.”  He kissed her softly.

Arya rested her forehead against his.  “I want to tell you, but I think if I do, you’ll stop again.”

Gendry tilted her head so he could kiss her deeply again.  He rolled them over until Arya was laying under him on the bed.  He moved his hands down to her waist again.

“I don’t think I could stop now unless you told me to.” He confessed.  He didn’t know exactly _how_ he would stop if she told him to, but he knew he would.

“No, don’t stop.” Arya told him.  She pulled his head back down and reclaimed his mouth briefly.  “I’ll tell you later.” She said.  “Later, but don’t ask me about it now.”

She grabbed the hem of her undershirt and pulled it up over her head.  Gendry couldn’t imagine there ever being a time anyone could have ever mistaken Arya for a boy, long hair or no.  Sure, she had matured, but she was beautiful.  Maybe not the way her sister was beautiful or the way Daenerys was beautiful, but Arya had a beauty that was all her own.

Gendry’s eyes dropped down to her flat stomach.  He saw immediately what it was she didn’t want anyone to see.  Half of him hoped that whoever had caused those grisly scars was long dead and the other half hoped they weren’t so he could kill them himself.  Gendry wanted to ask, but she said later and Gendry had done a lot of stupid things that day, but blowing his chance again wasn’t going to be one of them.

Gendry had a limited experience with women.  Melisandre aside, he’d only been naked with one other girl about two years ago in King’s Landing.  She was a pretty little thing, more Sansa in terms of beauty than Arya.  A lowborn.  He’d kissed her and touched her, but he didn’t let it go any further.  He didn’t want to father any bastard children.  Somehow, with Arya, that fear didn’t exist.

Arya’s hand drifted over her stomach, concealing her scars as best she could.  Gendry kissed her making a trail of kisses from her mouth, across her jaw, down her neck, until he found her breast.  Arya let out a breathy gasp.  Both hands came up to cup his head.  He released her and continued his trail down to her belly where he kissed each one of her scars.

“Gendry.” She gasped.

“I can stop.” He told them both.  He _would_ stop.  If she gave the word, he would stop.  No matter how it pained him.

“No!” She cried.

Gendry smiled up at her.  Her face was bright red.  Her hair had gone all messy.  It stuck out all over the place.  Her eyes were what caught him.  There in those steely eyes he could see her wanting.  Gendry pulled at the ties on her breeches, slowly.  He stared into those wanting eyes the whole time.  Waiting for any sign that he should stop.

“Wait!” She said, and Gendry stopped what he was doing.  He had sworn he would stop and he would.  “You, too.”

“What?”

“I’m not going to be the only one naked.” She told him.

Gendry’s brows shot up in surprise.  He smiled.  “In fairness, you’ve already seen _me_ naked before.  I’ve never seen you.”

“What’s _that_ got to do with now?” Arya demanded.  Her hands had gone back to hiding her scars.

Gendry couldn’t think of a winning answer, so he shrugged and started on his own ties.  Arya slid back toward the headboard and watched him.  She _had_ already seen him naked before.  There was a time when he’d pull his cock out to piss right beside her.  But the past was a different animal.  Showing himself to her now felt insanely embarrassing.  Especially with her watching him like that.

Gendry finished with his ties and shucked his breeches quickly to get it over with.  Arya looked at him unabashedly.  Gendry did his best to hide his embarrassment and discomfort.  Arya smiled at him with that glint in her eyes that always hinted at mischief.

“I don’t remember you looking like that.” She told him.

“Maybe ‘cause you were twelve and you looked like a mud monster all the time.”  He retorted.  “And you smelled like manure.”

“I smelled better than you.” She argued.

Gendry frowned playfully.  “I think you rubbed flowers on yourself to hide how bad you really smelled.”

Arya laughed and kicked at him.  “You’re such an idiot.”

“Mhm.” He agreed, leaning forward again.  Arya tipped her head to meet his kiss.  His hand slid around her waist and down her belly over the slightly raised scars and back to the ties on her breeches.

Arya lifted her hips and pushed her pants down her hips.  They fell in a heap beside his discarded pants and her tunic.  Arya’s hands wandered even further now.  He could feel her touch everywhere.  He did the same until she was shaking like a leaf in the wind beneath him.  And then he couldn’t wait any longer.  He settled himself over her, but he needed to give her one last chance to change her mind.  Even if it would kill him.

“Arya, are you sure?” He whispered, petting the wild strands of hair from her face.

She bit her lip and nodded.  “Just keep looking at me, okay?”

Gendry kissed her deeply before pulling back and resting his forehead against hers and looking into her eyes.  “Okay.”

Gendry didn’t know exactly what he was doing.  Like the Hound had said, he did know where to stick it, but he’d never been the one in control before.  And he’d never lain with a virgin before.  He had only ever heard that it usually hurt the girls.  Not that his first time had been a picnic.  He just wished he knew what to do so that he didn’t hurt her so much.

Arya made a small noise and he watched the shadow of pain etch its way behind her eyes.  Her fingers dug into his back.  Gendry squeezed his eyes shut in shame.  Shame that he’d hurt her and shame that he couldn’t stop himself from hurting her more.

“No, Gendry, look at me.” She whimpered.  Her hands were on his face, urging him to open his eyes.  Gendry couldn’t stop himself from hurting her, but he could at least do as she asked and look her in the eyes while he did it.

Arya made a small humming noise and hitched her legs up higher on his hips.  Gendry sunk deeper into her.  To his surprised, she sighed.  The pain was gone from her eyes, she tipped her head and kissed him gently.  Gendry groaned, losing himself in her.  Gendry set his mouth against her neck again, kissing her wherever his mouth could reach.  The Arya’s hand was on his chin, tugging him up to seal their lips together again.

“Hm.” Arya said, lying beside him.  They were both spent.

“What?” Gendry mumbled, sleepily.

Arya turned and curled herself onto his chest.  “I don’t know.  I guess I was just expecting… I don’t know.”

“What?  Was it bad?” He asked, suddenly wide awake.

Arya smiled and shook her head against his chest.  “No.  I was sort of expecting it to be, though.”

“You thought it’d be bad?” Gendry repeated, he started drawing lazy circles on her back.

“Mm.  That’s all I heard for a long time.  How much it hurt.”

“It wasn’t too bad then?  The pain?”

Arya turned her head and kissed the top of his stomach.  “No.”

“Good.  That’s good.” Gendry relaxed again.  He sat up, holding Arya to him so he could grab his blanket from where it was bunched up at the bottom of his bed.  He covered them both and settled against his pillows.

“Gendry?” Arya said on a whisper.

“Hm?”

“I love you.” She said.

Gendry smiled and kissed her hair.  “I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be honest, I wasn't really expecting to write such a tender love scene between them when I started this, but now I can't see it happening any other way.


	12. Locks and Conspiracies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gendry and Arya get caught. Gendry hears a conspiracy theory about Arya.

Arya sighed against Gendry’s skin.  It was still pitch black outside.  She closed her eyes again.  The candles had burned out basking them in darkness.  Arya pressed herself closer to Gendry.  She was used to the darkness.  It didn’t mean she had to like it.  Gendry’s arms tightened around her and he sighed into her hair.

She was vaguely aware of her need for a toilet, but she didn’t feel at all compelled to leave Gendry’s bed.  She was more comfortable than she had felt in years.  Gendry was nice and warm beneath her.  Her ear was pressed right over his heart so she could measure its steady thrum. 

Footsteps stopped outside the door.  Arya held her breath and listened, keeping her eyes shut.  They wouldn’t help her in the darkness anyway.  The latched clicked then.  Arya’s hand reached up toward the pillow before she remembered that she wasn’t in her own bed.  She drew her hand back and watched as the door slowly creaked open.  Needle was the closest weapon, but it was still on the floor on the other side of the bed.  Whoever was coming in, was holding a candle.

The man’s foot caught the edge of the door causing him to stumble forward.  Arya watched him.  In the light, she could just make out his features.

“Damn,” Ser Davos cursed.  He looked over at the bed then.  He stumbled backwards at the sight of her.

“Who’s that?” Gendry mumbled, his eyes still shut.

Arya rubbed her hand over his stomach.  “It’s Ser Davos.” She answered.

“Oh.”  He stretched under her and settled his hand over hers.  The three of them were quiet for a half minute.  Arya kept her eyes trained on Ser Davos.  He was holding a bundle of something in his hands that Arya couldn’t see in the low light.  Davos stared back at her, clearly unable to think of anything to say.

Gendry processed her words at last.  He jolted upright on the bed, knocking Arya aside.  He stood, flinging the blankets aside.  He looked between her and Ser Davos, realized his mistake, and quickly grabbed the blankets to wrap them securely around Arya’s naked body.

“What are you doing here?” Gendry demanded, grabbing a pair of pants from the floor.  He got them partway to his knees before he realized they weren’t his pants and took them back off.  Arya snickered behind him.

“I should be asking you that!” Ser Davos hissed at him, darting his eyes at Arya.  She met his look coolly.  Daring.

Gendry tied up his pants.  “It’s my room.”

“You know damn well what I’m talking about.” Ser Davos insisted.  “Suppose it had been Jon that walked in here.”

“Why would Jon come here?”

Ser Davos didn’t have a good answer for that.  Arya leaned back against the headboard and watched them.  She could kill him, but Gendry didn’t seem altogether worried that he had caught them.  Only annoyed. 

“I thought you were friends.  I thought you at least had sense enough not to bed the King in the North’s sister.” Ser Davos continued to hiss.  “What if he finds out about this?”

“You’re my brother’s adviser.  Aren’t you, Ser Davos?” Arya said from her blankets.

The man was avoiding looking at her now.  “I am, M’Lady.”

Arya frowned.  “You’re sort of like his Hand.  You know, my father was Hand of the King once.  Look where that got him.”

“Arya,” Gendry said, waving his hand at her.  “Don’t.  Davos won’t say anything.”

Arya arched an eyebrow at him.  “How can you be sure?”

“Davos is who got me away from Melisandre.”  Gendry explained.  “He’s why I’m still alive.”

Arya slumped against the pillows.  “Oh.”

Gendry looked back at Davos and cocked his head toward the door.  He started to usher Ser Davos back out of the room.

“This conversation isn’t over, lad.”

“I know, I know.” Gendry continued nudging the man out the door.

“Ach, wait, I did come here with a purpose.” Ser Davos said just before Gendry could shut the door.  He pushed what was in his hands into Gendry’s arms.  “I am still trying to keep you alive, you know.  Though you’re determined to fight me every step of the way.”

“Thank you, Davos.” Gendry said, shutting the door firmly.  He leaned his head against the door and sighed heavily.

Arya shrugged off the blanket and set about dressing for the day.  Gendry had thrown her pants toward the other side of the room after his earlier error.  The stone floor was cold.  She missed her rugs.

“ _That’s_ why you should always lock your door.” She told him, dancing into her breeches.

“Sorry.”

“What did he bring you?” Arya scooped her undershirt off the ground and pulled it on, tucking it carefully into her pants.

“Shirts.”  Gendry answered, dropping the stack onto his dresser.  “The Hound ripped up my last one yesterday.”

He turned and looked at her.  She was mostly dressed already.  Her fingers worked up the fastenings for her tunic.  She just needed her boots and her belt.

“Are you leaving?”

Arya sat on the bed to lace up her boots.  “I have to get set up for training.  Brienne left for a few days so I don’t have help right now.  Although Beric and The Hound aren’t particularly busy men.  They can afford to dedicate a few hours.”  She still hadn’t asked them, but what were they going to do?  Tell her no?

“Will I at least see you later?  Today?”

Arya smiled up at him, picking her belt up off the floor to fasten around her hips.  “Won’t you be busy?”

“Not too busy for you.” Gendry rubbed the back of his head.  “I mean, you used to hang out at my forge while I was working all the time.”

Arya walked over to him.  He bent his head to her close enough that she could touch the tip of her nose to his.  She smiled and dropped down to scoop her cloak off the ground behind him.  She fixed it around her shoulders and started for the door.

Gendry’s hand snagged her elbow and hauled her around.  She wasn’t surprised by it.  Immediately she curled her arms around his neck and kissed him back deeply.  He held her tight against him.

“I’ll see you again today.” She agreed.

“Mm, no, stay now.” Gendry argued, kissing her just below her ear.  “Sun’s not even up yet.”

Arya looked out the window.  The pitch black of the night was just beginning to grow to a dark grey.  It would be so easy to take her clothes right back off and crawl back into bed with Gendry.  It was tempting.  War was coming.  She might not have many opportunities left to spend any time with Gendry.  But the likelihood of them surviving the coming war was heavily reliant upon both of their work.

“I think you have work to get to, too.” Arya told him.  “But you should wear your coat when you’re training.  If you’re going to let the Hound pummel you, the extra padding will help.”

“I don’t like to take the coat into the forge.  If it burns, I won’t have anything to wear when we fight.”

“So just leave it at the training yard.  I’ll bring it back for you.” Arya offered.

“You’re too busy for all that.” Gendry argued.  “I’ve faired just as well in my tunic.”

“You weren’t wearing your tunic yesterday.”

“I left it at the smithy.  If your sister hadn’t gotten me drunk I could’ve gone back for it.”

“Wear your coat.” Arya told him, firmly.

Gendry threw back his head and groaned.  “Yes M’lady.”

“Keep it up.” Arya warned, arching her eyebrow.

Gendry grinned at her.  Arya rolled her eyes at him one last time before walking out the door. 

* * *

 

Gendry concentrated on his work.  It was slow going at first.  Every _ting_ of the hammer made him think of the little noises Arya had made the night before.  It didn’t help that every now and again, the forge would get just quiet enough that he could hear her barking orders at her girls in the yard.

Eventually, though, he found his groove again.  So invested in his work was he that he didn’t notice when he was the only one left in the forge.  He also didn’t notice when Arya showed up.  One minute he was working out the kinks on a sword and the next, she was sitting on the table.  She was eating an apple and watching him.

“Where’d you get an apple in the middle of winter?”

Arya slurped the juice from her fingers and shrugged.  “Still apples in the south.  Not for very much longer though.”  She held it out for him.  “Do you want a bite?”

Gendry looked at the half eaten apple in her hand.  He lifted the cloth on the picnic basket and examined the contents.

“What?  You only brought one?”

Arya licked a dribble of juice off her finger.  “You don’t want to share?”

Gendry grabbed her wrist and pulled the apple to his mouth.  Arya scowled at the large bite he had taken.  He stepped back and chewed.  The apple was sweet and delicious.  He longed for a whole one.

“How many swords have you made today?”

Gendry pulled out a loaf of bread and split it in half.  “This is my fourth.  Made two spearheads, too.  Those were sort of easier.”

“Spearheads?”

Gendry nodded.  “For the Unsullied.”

“Are you going to have enough time to make all the weapons for everybody?”

Gendry picked up his flagon of water and took a drink.  “Don’t suppose we get a say one way or the other.  There are smiths in other Northern Holdfasts forging dragon glass weapons, too.  Everyone is working as fast and as hard as they can.  One of the smiths here has been making dragon glass arrowheads by the dozens.  Three women come down when the rest of the men get back from lunch and fix them all to shafts.  We probably have around five thousand dragon glass arrows now.  Upwards of ten thousand swords altogether.  Still, it’s not enough.  But it doesn’t matter in the end.  We can only keep going until those monsters break down the walls.”

Arya looked down at the apple core in her hand.  Gendry could hear her thoughts.  She was worried she was wasting time.  But Gendry needed her with him now.  He couldn’t concentrate on what he was meant to be doing if he was constantly worried about her.  He covered her free hand with his.

“Stay with me.” He told her.

Arya looked up at him.  He could read the hesitation in her eyes.  The fear that she was only a distraction.  Gendry leaned his head against hers.

“I work better when I know you’re with me.”

“You aren’t working at all right now.”

Gendry held up the bread in his hand.  “Am I meant to starve until the dead get here?”

He took a big bite of the bread to prove his point.  Arya smiled at him.  He finished the bread and went back to the basket.  He frowned.

“They didn’t have any of those little yellow cakes?” He asked.

“The lemon cakes?”

“Is that what they are?”

“There aren’t any more lemons.”  Arya explained.

Gendry frowned.  “Damn.  I liked those.”

“They were Sansa’s favorite, too.” She said.

Gendry frowned.  “They weren’t really my favorite.  I just wanted something sweet.”

“We’ve started rationing our sugar.  The meals in the hall are almost always stews now.  I stole that bit of cheese in there.  And the apple.” She admitted.

“Oh, right.” Gendry looked over at her.  She was running a finger up and down the side of one of the blades on the table.  Gendry leaned over and kissed her.  She responded immediately.  Gendry could taste the sweetness of the apple still on her lips and tongue.

“The Northern Lords start arriving today.” Arya told him.  “People are going to be everywhere.”

Gendry kissed her cheek and jaw.  “That so?”

“You’re going to have a roommate.” She told him.  “Maybe two or three.”

Gendry pulled back and looked at her.  “Are you serious?”

Arya shrugged.  “You still think keeping your door unlocked is a smart idea?”

Gendry stood and picked up the blade he’d been working on.  “Suppose it doesn’t make a huge difference.  I don’t spend much time in there in the first place.”

Arya tilted her head and watched him start to work again.  She swung her legs through the air.  Gendry kept looking over at her while he waited for the dragon glass to heat up.  She tucked her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Still, four men on your bed.” She shook her head.  “Won’t be very peaceful.”

“What?  Being a close personal friend of one of the Starks of Winterfell doesn’t grant me any privileges?  Like a private bedroom?” Gendry asked, pulling the soon-to-be blade from the embers and setting it on the anvil.

Arya waited until he moved to the water trough before speaking.  “You don’t think the extra food your close, personal Stark friend brings you every day is enough of a privilege?”

Gendry frowned.  “Didn’t know it was Jon bringing me food baskets.  Maybe I should be kissing him.”

Arya chucked her apple core at him, nailing him on the cheek.  “Maybe I’ll tell Jon exactly who you’ve been kissing.”

Gendry set the blade back on the anvil.  “I have to share a bed with three smelly men.  What exactly could your lord brother do to me that’s worse than that?”

“Well, he’s no Ramsay, but I’m sure he could think of something.”

Gendry dipped the blade into the water trough and walked back over to her.  “I don’t know Ramsay or what he’s done, but I can tell you who _I’m_ more afraid of.”  He kissed her cheek.  “She’s scarier than a hundred dragons.”

“Oh?  Is this one of those Stark friends of yours?” Arya challenged.

Gendry stroked her other cheek with the knuckles on his free hand.  “Nah, just some bloke called Arry.”

Arya started laughing.  Gendry nuzzled her cheek.  “You’re lucky you’re good at your job.”

“Which job is that?”

“The one that makes you so filthy.” 

Gendry pretended to think.  “Mm, doesn’t really clarify things does it?”

Arya grabbed a fistful of his shirt collar and pulled him down to kiss him.  Gendry tucked his fingers into her hair, setting the blade he was working on on the table.  Arya’s feet kicked the backs of his knees forcing him to move closer.  She locked her ankles around his legs.

“I swear, I’ll die by your hand or I’ll live forever.” Gendry rumbled against her mouth.

Arya let go of him suddenly, shoving him back and using her sleeve to wipe her face.  She jumped up off the table just as the other smiths began to trickle back into the forge.  She settled her hand on Needle’s hilt.

“Bye.”

Gendry watched her glide from the smithy.  Smooth and graceful and surefooted.  Every step a dance.  She really did make it next to impossible to think of anything other than her.

“What’s Lady Arya doing in here all the time?” Tom asked.  “She given you a hard time?”

“Oh, uh, she’s just concerned about the number of weapons we’ve made so far.  We couldn’t arm a third of the Dothraki with what we have.” Gendry told him.

Tom scoffed.  “She thinks comin’ in here and wasting your time is goin’ to get anything done faster?”

“You know she could kill you.” Gendry reminded the man.

“You think that just ‘cause you think she killed that foreign bastard a couple weeks ago.”

“I don’t _think_ she killed him.  I watched her do it.”

Tom shook his head.  “It’s all a rouse.  They planned it.  She didn’t really kill him.  Remember how they couldn’t find his body?”

Gendry rolled his eyes and stuck his blade into the embers to heat it up again.  Tom followed him, eager to share his conspiracies. 

“Listen, they couldn’t find his body because he’s not dead.  Do you honestly believe a little girl like that is taking on a foreign bastard that’s probably fucked as many corpses as he’s made and winning?  Of course not.”

Gendry brought the blade to the anvil.  “You sure that’s a theory you want to taut?  What if you’re wrong?”

“I’m not wrong.  I seen the bastard walking around not two days ago plain as day.  Even had his hair all chopped off still.” Tom insisted.

Gendry frowned at the blade in his hand.  He beat at it for a few minutes.  Arya had definitely killed the Dothraki.  She didn’t bluff.  And she was training a hundred women to be just as deadly.  Besides that, the idiot had cut her.  Arya didn’t forgive easily under normal circumstances.  In a fight, she was ruthless.

“You saying you want to fight her?” Gendry asked, examining his finished blade.  He looked over at Tom.  “You make a good blade.  You’ll be missed.”

“I’m _telling_ you.  She never killed anyone.  I can tell it just by lookin’ at her.  She’s too showy with her fighting.  Flashy.  Real killers don’t need all that nonsense.”

Gendry set the blade on the table.  He whistled at the boys apprenticing.  “Sharpen these.”  He told them.  The boys nodded and jumped to their task.

“What about me?  How many people you think I’ve killed?” Gendry asked, picking up a new chunk of dragon glass.

“You?” Tom said.  He shrugged.  “Don’t think you’ve killed anyone either.  You don’t stray far enough from your work to get yourself into trouble like that.”

Gendry snickered.  “I killed two Gold Cloaks leaving King’s Landing.”

“Gold Cloaks?” Tom repeated.  “Really?”

Gendry shoved the chunk of dragon glass into the man’s arms.  “Really.  Now stop talking and get to work.”


	13. Arrangements and Lost Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya stops by the forge. Gendry loses something of Arya's. Jon talks to Arya. Davos talks to Gendry. Gendry talks to Arya.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot happening all at once. I tried to keep track of who knows what. The only thing I know for sure is that Jon still knows nothing.

“Gendry,” Arya called softly.  It was late.  She’d already been to the hall.  Lyanna Mormont had trapped her into a discussion about training.  She was a hard girl, but Arya was finally able to make her see reason.  If Lyanna wanted private lessons, there were plenty of arms masters to teach her.  If she insisted on being trained by Arya, she would train with the rest of the women.

Arya was grateful that Brienne was due back the next day.  She could tell Lady Mormont was going to be a handful.  Arya was actually excited to work with her.  Alys Karstark would join them, too, though she was much more skittish.  Likely because the Karstarks were still on shaky ground after they sided with the Boltons in the Battle of the Bastards.

“Just a minute.” Gendry told her, heating the blade again.  “Almost finished.”

Arya looked at the collection of swords on the table.  All of them different from the ones strewn across it that afternoon.  Arya saw more spearheads and curved Dothraki blades.  She surprised herself with her ability to tell which blades Gendry had made himself.  She’d never understood the difference between castle forged steel and regular steel other than castle forged steel was supposedly better.

She picked up a sword and twirled it experimentally in her hand.  It was much heavier than Needle.  She tapped the black blade.  It was heavy but not terribly balanced.  With a bit of practice it could feel as natural in her hand as Needle. 

“That’s not sharpened yet.” Gendry said.  She looked over to see him sliding his sword into the trough.

“I know that.”

Gendry shrugged and squinted at his sword in the low lamp light.  He returned to the fire and submerged the blade in the flames.  Arya turned the blade in her hand again.  It was easier this time.  Now that she knew the weight.  She did a few steps of the water dance.  The sword was bulky.  She knew it couldn’t be helped, but she wished Needle would work against the White Walkers.

“There are two Umbers in your room.”  Arya told him, swinging the sword evenly.  It reminded her of the wooden sword she used to train with with Syrio.  She drew herself up and turned, drawing the sword up as if to block an invisible enemy.  “And two Karstarks.”

Gendry scowled.  “They put _four_ men in my room?  Does Jon not think I need to sleep?  Or should I make do with the floor?”

Arya shrugged.  “I wasn’t part of the decision when it came to divvying up the rooms.  That was mostly Sansa.”

“I’m really starting to hate your sister.” Gendry announced.

“Only starting to?”

Gendry laughed.  “Yeah, alright.  Still doesn’t help when it comes to my room being given away.” 

Arya turned, arching the sword around her head and straightening up, pointing it at Gendry.  Gendry tipped his head and stared down the black blade at her.  She grinned at him and flipped the sword around in her hand and relaxed her stance.

“Does it feel alright, then?” Gendry asked, taking his newly finished sword over to the table to await sharpening.

“Good balance.  A little heavier than I’m used to, but nothing serious.”

Gendry nodded and leaned against the table.  He yawned and shook his head.  “Those arseholes had better not touch my nice coat.” Gendry grumbled. 

“Oh, your coat’s in my room.” Arya set the sword down on the table.

“You said you were going to take it back to my room for me.”

“Yeah, but I went to my room this morning to find my gloves and I left it in there.” She explained.  “I couldn’t find my gloves.  I think they might have fallen behind my dresser.”

“Oh, no.  I have your gloves.” 

“Why do you have my gloves?”

“When I was leaving your room the other morning, Jon caught me and I lied and said you sent me up to fetch your gloves.  Well, I didn’t lie, Daenerys lied.  Anyway, I have your gloves.”

“Give them back.” Arya demanded.

Gendry patted his pants pockets and frowned.  “I think they’re in my room.”

“Your new friends had better not get their hands on them.”

“Okay, I’ll go get them.” Gendry conceded.

He didn’t move.  Arya stared at him. 

“You aren’t going.” Arya reminded him.

“What?  You want me to go now?”

“Yes, I want you to go now!”

“Alright!  Geez!” Gendry cried, throwing up his hands.

Arya followed him out to the yard.  Gendry stopped and turned around. 

“Why are you following me?”

“I’m not following you.  I live in the same castle.” She reminded him.

Gendry gave her a sour look.  “Pain in my arse.” He grumbled, turning back around.

Arya went up to her room alone.  The hallways were overcrowded with people from all different Northern families.  Arya almost knocked a man down the staircase when he couldn’t get out of her way.  Luckily he either recognized who she was or could see the murderous intent in her eyes, either way he finally moved.

“Arya,” Jon called out as she reached her bedroom.  “How opposed are you to sharing your room with one of the ladies?” He asked.

Arya put her key into the door.  “I don’t know.  Which lady?  Would she be missed?”

“What?”

“I’d rather not have anyone snooping through my things.  It’d be a shame if they saw something they aren’t meant to see.  I might not have any choice.”

Jon stared at her for a long time.  “Well, I’m certain Sansa will be able to find them other accommodations.”  He said awkwardly.

“Oh, good.”  Arya smiled up at him.

Jon watched her open her door and step inside.  She turned around to look at him again.  He frowned.

“Something on your mind, Jon?”

“What happened to you?”  He asked.

Arya considered him for a minute.  She sighed and leaned against her door.

“Probably nothing compared to what’s happened to you.”

“Arya….”

“I know.  I’ll tell you about it sometime, but it’s already so late.  I have to get up early to start training the girls.”

Jon pouted on the verge of shoving his way into her room and forcing her to explain herself.  Reason won out and he gave her a defeated nod.

“Alright.  Sleep well, I suppose.”

“You, too.”  Arya shut the door. 

She wasn’t hiding her past on purpose.  She just didn’t know how to tell him.  She couldn’t even tell Sansa without terrifying her.  Admittedly some of that had been on purpose.  It had taken Arya a while to be able to look at her sister without remembering the way she’d looked standing on the steps of the Sept of Baelor.  Somehow she’d figure out a way to tell Jon everything without breaking his heart.

* * *

 

There was a second mattress on his floor that stopped the door from opening all the way.  Gendry edged his way into the room amid the snores of four men.  Gendry stared at his bed.  A man was drooling into his pillows where he and Arya had lain together only hours before.

Gendry hunted for Arya’s gloves as best he could with his limited space.  He remembered putting them in his pocket before Beric and the Hound had dragged him to the training yard.  He opened his dresser and scowled.  His clothes were gone.  He pushed the drawer shut and checked the other one.  Gendry stood and stomped back out of the room not caring if he woke the intruders.

“There you are!” Davos called.  Gendry marched over to him, pointing back at his bedroom door.

“They got rid of my clothes.”  He fumed.  “I can’t find anything!  How can they just throw out a person’s things?”

“I’ll find your things, but we need to talk.” Davos insisted.

“And I can’t find Arya’s gloves so now she’s going to kill me.” Gendry complained.  “They were in my pocket and I don’t remember taking them out so I figured they must’ve fallen out when I took my pants off, but now I can’t find them.”

“Right, about Lady Arya, I don’t think it’s wise for you to be doing what you’re doing.”

“Well I don’t have much of a choice now, do I?” He sighed.

Davos scrunched his face up at Gendry.  “Are you saying she’s forcing you?”

“What?  No.  Not really.  She was looking for them earlier and thought _she’d_ lost them and I told her I had taken them earlier.  She just wants them back.”

Davos grabbed Gendry by the shoulders.  “Stop about the gloves, boy.”  He barked.

“You wouldn’t say that if you knew Arya.” Gendry told him seriously.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve gotten yourself into?”

Gendry shrugged.

“That girl slit Petyr Baelish’s throat open in front of all the Northern lords.”

Gendry frowned and nodded.  “Doesn’t surprise me.”

“Well, it should alarm you at any rate.”

“Why?” Gendry asked.  “I’m not on her list.”  Gendry wrinkled his nose.  “Unless I really can’t find her damned gloves.”

“Wh – Hold on.  Did you say she has a list?” Davos stammered.

“Of people who’ve wronged her.  I’m not entirely sure how long it is now.  I know she took a few names off, but I’ll assume she’s added a few more.”

Davos stared at Gendry speechless for a few seconds.  “Does… does that not worry you?”

“If I had to go through what she did, I’ll bet I’d make a list, too.” Gendry shrugged.

“She’s still Jon’s sister.” Davos pressed.

“So’s Sansa and Jon was trying to get me to marry her.”

Davos covered his eyes with his good hand.  “But Jon doesn’t know about this now.  Does he?”

Gendry scratched his chin.  “Uh, no.  It’d probably be best he didn’t know for the time being.  So far I think it’s just you.”  He thought for a second.  “And Daenerys, probably.”

“The queen knows?”

“I’m sure she’s assumed something not far from the truth.”

“Gods, you’re as reckless as your uncle.” Davos muttered.

Gendry scowled.  “I’m nothing like Stannis.”

Davos sighed.  “Alright, lad.  I’ll go search out what happened with your things.  Maybe track down Lady Arya’s gloves while I’m at it.”

Gendry relaxed a bit.  “Yeah?”

Davos patted Gendry on the back.  “You just try not to get yourself killed for all this.”

“Thank you, Davos.” Gendry said earnestly.

Gendry stood in the corridor.  He wasn’t about to go back into his room.  There was barely enough room for him to stand.  He couldn’t go to Arya’s room.  Not empty handed anyway.  He was so stupid.  He should’ve kept his mouth shut about the damned gloves.  He could’ve found them in his own time and just given them back to her without her being any the wiser.

Gendry headed out to the training yard.  It was unlikely, but maybe they had fallen out of his pocket when he was training with Beric and The Hound.  It was snowing when he walked back outside.  And the temperature had dropped significantly.  He longed for his coat.  For warmth. 

He scrounged around in the frozen yard for a while.  It was too dark to really see anything in the first place.  Gendry gave up when he could no longer feel his hands.  He didn’t have a choice other than to go to Arya and admit that he’d lost her gloves. 

There was an abundance of Dothraki and Unsullied guards littered through the corridors.  Even as far as the staircase.  Gendry eased his way through them all until he reached Arya’s room.  He checked to be sure no one was watching him before he knocked.  He waited, but when the door still didn’t open, he knocked again.

“I was stoking the fire.” Arya told him.  She was standing in her undershirt and half-tied breeches.

Gendry slipped around her to get out of public eye as quick as he could.  The last thing he needed that night was Jon wondering what he was doing calling at his sister’s door so late at night.  Arya shut the door and turned the lock.

“They put another mattress on the floor in my room.  It’s impossible to move in there anymore.” Gendry told her.

“You didn’t find my gloves.”

Gendry sighed.  “No.  I didn’t find your gloves.  If it’s any consolation, those men chucked my things away who knows where.  Even the new shirts Davos brought me this morning.”

“Fine, but you aren’t getting your coat back until I get my gloves.” Arya agreed.

“I thought you wanted me to wear it for the extra padding.”

“That was before you stole my gloves.”

“I didn’t steal them.”

“You took them without asking and you haven’t given them back.”

“I’m _going_ to give them back.  Just as soon as I find them.”

Arya rolled her eyes at him.  “And I’m going to give your coat back.  Just as soon as you return my gloves.”

“Heartless.”

Arya eyed him.  “No.  Heartless would be making you go back to the four men in your room to sleep there.”

“Does that mean I have another option?” He grinned.

“It’s not a private room, per say.” Arya said.

“I knew my close personal Stark friendship would benefit me someday.” Gendry teased, pulling Arya into his arms.

Arya pushed at his chest.  “If you’re talking about Jon again, I’ll skin you.”

Gendry kissed her.  “It’s not Jon’s bed I’m staying in, is it?”

“Do you want to stay in Jon’s bed?”

“Mm mm.” He grabbed her butt and pulled her up onto his waist.  “I prefer Arry.”

* * *

 

Arya had never spent much time thinking about romantic relationships.  Love and marriage and children had never really appealed to her.  And sex always sounded like some horrible thing that was done to women.  The first time she’d ever heard a woman speak about it in a pleasurable way, Arya thought the woman was daft.  But then she’d heard other women saying things to a similar effect.  Arya still couldn’t see herself ever doing something like that, but it had made her curious.

With Gendry, Arya could see exactly what those women meant.  Sex wasn’t something Gendry did _to_ her.  It was something they did together.  Arya didn’t think any other man would work the same.  So while she had gone from never wanting to engage in a romantic entanglement at all, she had only gone so far as to agree to a romantic entanglement with one man.  And one man only.  No one else would do.

Gendry hummed something softly as his fingers traced lazy loops across her skin.  Arya couldn’t figure out the tune.  He stopped long enough to adjust the pillows behind him.  As soon as he was comfortable again, he resumed his tracing and humming.

“What song is that?” Arya asked.

“I don’t know.  I heard it a long time ago.  Sometimes the tune sticks in my head.” He tugged lightly on her hair.  “Could’ve been something my mom sang to me for all I know.”

“Do you know the words?”

“No.  Just the tune.”

Arya stared at the fire crackling across the room.  It made Gendry’s dirty skin look like the inside of the forge. Orange and black.  Arya shut her eyes and listened to Gendry’s heart in her ear.  He began to hum again.  She could hear it rumble in her chest.

“Arya?  Who gave you those scars?” Gendry asked suddenly.

Arya swallowed.  She opened her eyes into the fire again.  “She didn’t have a name.”

“What’s that mean?  She didn’t have a name?”

“She was one of the Faceless Men, like I was.  The Faceless Men give up their identities.  They become no one.  I don’t know what her name was before the House of Black and White.  She was no one before and she is no one now.  Just another face on the wall.”

“You gave up your identity?” Gendry asked.  “You were no one then?”

Arya sighed.  “I don’t think I ever really was no one.  I couldn’t do what they told me to.  I couldn’t kill good people for a bit of gold.  That’s why the Waif was sent to kill me in the first place.  So I left.  I came back to Westeros.  I decided to use my new skills to kill people who did deserve it.”

“Like the Freys.”

Arya nodded against his chest.  “I was going after Cersei next, but I heard Jon was back in Winterfell so I came to see him first.”

“Just Jon?  Not Sansa or Bran?”

“I didn’t know about Sansa or Bran.  Hot Pie only told me that Jon won the Battle of the Bastards and took back Winterfell.”

“Hot Pie told you?”

Arya sat up and looked at him.  “He’s still cooking at the Crossroads.”

“He’s alive then?  That’s good.”  Gendry pet her hair back.

“He’d love to see you someday.” Arya said.  “I’m pretty sure he thinks you’re dead, too.  Like I did.”

“Nah.  He always liked you more.” Gendry told her, pulling her head down so he could kiss her again.

“What can I say?  I’m a people person.”

Arya kissed him back, moving up the bed and twisting one of her legs around his.  Gendry slid his hand down her back.  His fingertips brushed her butt before he dragged his hand back up her side.

“One more question.” Gendry murmured.

“Everybody always wants to ask me questions.” Arya complained halfheartedly. 

Gendry smiled and kissed her lightly.  “This is important.”

Arya sighed and set her chin on his chest.  “Okay.  What is it?”

“How are we going to keep Jon from figuring out that I’m sleeping in your room?”

Arya frowned.  “I suppose if he finds out we can always remind him about the army of dead people that put half the North in our castle.  And if he has a problem after that, I can also remind him that I can take care of myself.”

“Good enough for you, maybe.  What about me?”

Arya kissed his jaw.  “I told you I’ll protect you.”

Gendry let out a rumble.  He wrapped his arms tightly around her waist and rolled her over.  “I feel more like a princess than you are.” He said into her neck.  “I’ve got my very own knight in shining armor.”

Arya giggled.  “I don’t have shining armor.  You’re thinking of Brienne.”

Gendry pulled his head back and looked down at her.  “You don’t have shiny armor?”

Arya laughed at him and shook her head.

“I guess I’ll have to make you some.” He reasoned.

“Yeah?”

Gendry nodded.  “It’ll be the best armor I’ll ever make.”

“I knew my close personal friendship with the smith would benefit me in some way.” She teased.

Gendry laughed and kissed her again until they were both too tired to talk anymore.


	14. Trouble and Strangers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gendry gets new smiths who cause trouble for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are other events happening concurrently with Arya and Gendry's story that I should be writing in more clearly, but there are so many other more interesting things to write. Like late night bedtime conversations betwixt two young lovers.  
> Also I am positive that my timeline is way off from how it will actually be in the show. It's been like three weeks in this fic and I'm sure the White Walkers would already be at Winterfell by this point in the show. Oooooh well!!!

Arya was already gone when Gendry woke up the next morning.  He yawned and stretched, trying to talk himself into leaving the warmth of the bed.  Her room was nicer than his.  Her bed softer.  She had rugs on the floor that prevented him from putting his bare feet directly onto the ice cold stone floor.  None of it was anything major, but it made a world of difference.

She’d left the key for him on top of his clothes.  The order was clear.  Lock up before you leave.  Arya had a lot more secrets to keep than he did.  And a lot more nice things to steal.

Gendry debated putting on his coat before he left for the training yard.  Arya wasn’t there to stop him, but he knew she’d cave his skull in when she saw him in it.  He buttoned up his tunic instead and met Beric and The Hound in the yard.  He cast his eyes around, but didn’t see Arya anywhere.  He wondered where she’d run off to so early.  He didn’t have much time to wonder before the two men began smacking him around.

After an hour, Gendry headed into the forge.  He took his tunic off and hung it on a hook in the corner as far out of the way as possible.  Then he started in on a new blade.  When the first rays of sunlight peeked on the horizon, the other smiths started in.  Gendry was working on his second blade of the day when he heard the smiths chattering.  Someone said his name and Gendry looked up.

Three men were standing in the middle of the smithy.  Two were weathered old men with scraggly, grey beards, one was slightly younger.  His hair hadn’t gone completely grey yet.  One of his smiths was pointing back at Gendry.  He couldn’t hear what was being said, but Gendry assumed if it was important, someone would tell him.

After a few minutes, the three men wove their way through the smithy to Gendry.  They stood in front of his anvil while he worked.  He felt his irritation rise up.  Whatever they wanted, they were wasting time standing there gawking. 

“Can I help you?” Gendry asked, bored. 

“Are you Gendry?”

“I am.” Gendry inspected the blade in his hand.

“So you’re the one in charge here?” The man asserted.

“I am.”  Gendry stepped back to the forge and slide the black blade into the flames.

“Gods, you can’t be any older than my son.  They put you in charge?”

“I expect I’ll be older than you by the time you tell me what you’re doing here.” Gendry grumbled.

“We’re smiths from Karhold.  Our lady told us we were to start work here seeing as we had to abandon our holdfast.”  The man told him.

Gendry sighed and looked around the smithy.  Every anvil had a smith working at it.  Two of the anvils were shared between two smiths as it was.  He hadn’t been informed of any new persons coming to work.  He didn’t know what Jon expected him to do with them.  The smithy was only so big.  The armorers were working outside already.

“We don’t have the room for three more smiths.” Gendry told them,

“Well it’s six smiths.  There’s the three of us and three more from Last Hearth still eating in the Hall.” The younger of the men told him. 

“Well, if I don’t have room for the three of you I won’t have any more room for six.”

“What do you expect us to do?  Our lady instructed us to come work so that’s what we’re doing.  If you can figure it out, maybe you shouldn’t be the one in charge.” The first smith argued.

Gendry glared at the man.  “My smiths leave at sundown.  When they go home for the night, you can all come back and work until they come back at sunup.  You’ll have plenty of room then and we’ll have weapons being made all day long.”

The men glared back at him.  “When do you expect us to sleep if we’re meant to be here all night?”

Gendry pulled the dragon glass from the flames and set it on the anvil.  “I’d expect you’ll sleep whenever you aren’t working, wouldn’t you?”

“During the day?  We aren’t owls, are we?”

“Seems to me you’re wasting time.” Gendry pointed out.

The men scowled and began cursing, but they turned to leave nonetheless.

“Tell the smiths from Last Hearth the same, will you?” He called after them.

“Go fuck yourself!” The first smith snapped.

Gendry frowned in distaste and quickly got back to work.  He worked faster now.  It didn’t take him so long to bang out the blades.  He was already on his sixth sword by the time the other smiths left for lunch.  Gendry was waiting for Arya to show up, but instead of a tiny assassin he was met with the Onion Knight.

“Jon needs to speak with you, lad.” He announced.

“Why didn’t he just come see me himself?” Gendry asked, still working.

“Seems you’ve upset the Northern lords in some way or another.  I’m sure it’s nothing, you just need to explain your side of things.” 

Gendry’s hand tightened around the handle of his hammer.  Those cunts had gone off crying to their lords and ladies like children to their mothers.  They were lucky he was a reasonable man.  He wouldn’t sacrifice good workers otherwise he knew a skill assassin that would be happy to take them out.

Gendry tossed the finished blade onto the table and set his hammer on his anvil.  He grabbed his tunic before he followed Ser Davos out to the Hall.  He was still fastening his tunic as they reached the doors.  The long tables had all been shoved up against the walls.  They were littered with lords and ladies from what Gendry could only assume was every noble house in the North.  Near the front, hidden behind their respective noble families, were the six smiths.

Davos pointed Gendry up toward the head table.  Jon and Daenerys were seated side by side in the middle.  To Jon’s left was Sansa, to Daenerys’ right was Bran.  Gendry looked around for Arya, but didn’t see her.  He knew it was stupid, but a small nudge of fear twisted in his gut.  Jon wasn’t going to hurt him, he knew.  Still, there were other things the Warden of the North could do to punish him if he deemed it necessary.

“Gendry,” Jon nodded.

“Jon.”

Jon arched a brow and nodded toward their audience.  Gendry cleared his throat and clasped his hands in front of him.

“M’lord.” He corrected.  That still wasn’t right, judging from the rumble that came from the room at large. “Your Grace?” He tried again.

“Sorry for dragging you away from your work.  There seems to be some trouble regarding the new smiths from Karhold and Last Hearth.”

“No trouble that I know of.  I told them my solution to the overcrowding already.”

Jon frowned at the smiths in the corner.  “Overcrowding is it?”

Gendry gave his head a little shake.  “We don’t have enough anvils and space as it is.  Adding half a dozen more smiths is only going to cause quality and quantity to go down.  I told the new men that they could come in and work the smithy from sundown to sunup.”

Jon looked impressed with Gendry’s solution.  “I was told you had only turned them away.”  He turned to the smiths hiding in the corner.  “And what exactly was your issue with this?  He did not turn you away. He told you to work later when there was room for you to work.”

“We can’t smith in the dark, Your Grace.”  The old smith that had told Gendry to go fuck himself said.

Jon looked between them and Gendry.  “He works after sundown every day.  He’s never had much of a problem with it.  Have you?”

“No, Your Grace.” Gendry confirmed.

“Lady Karstark, Lord Umber, does this solution dissatisfy you in any way?” Jon demanded.

“No, Your Grace.” A young boy, Lord Umber, said at once.

“No, Your Grace.” Lady Karstark said more slowly.

“Alys?” Jon pressed.

“He won’t be there the whole night, will he?” Lady Karstark started.  “He will have to sleep sometime.  What if something happens when he isn’t there?”

“If something happens in the six hours I’m away from my forge, I’m sure I can figure it out when I get back in the morning.” Gendry told the girl.

She frowned at him.  He’d spent so much time around the Starks he had forgotten that most high borns expected a bit more respect when spoken to by someone they deemed lower than them. 

“That’s all good and well for small mistakes, but what if something else happens.  What if the forge catches fire?”  She insisted.

“The forge fire going out would be the bigger problem.”  Gendry answered.

“Right, well if there’s a fire in the smithy I’m sure the whole castle will know about it.  Unless you’re saying you don’t trust your men to work there unsupervised.” Jon asserted.

Lady Karstark flushed and shook her head.  “Of course not.  I’m sure they’ll be able to handle themselves just as well here as they did in Karhold.”

“Good, well that’s resolved then.  I am sorry to have called you away on such a matter, Gendry.” Jon told him earnestly.  “I’ll make sure the new smiths are at the smithy at sundown.”

“No trouble, Your Grace.  I look forward to seeing them tonight.”

“You six would do well to find your beds and rest before work.” Gendry warned.

The new smiths scowled at the floor and marched from the Hall.  Gendry watched them go.  Mr. Go-Fuck-Yourself led the way.  He wasn’t paying much attention to where he was going.  He rammed his shoulder into Arya’s chest.  She stumbled back, surprise on her face.

“Watch it, brat.” Mr. Go-Fuck-Yourself hissed.

Gendry watched Arya’s face change.  She grabbed the smith by the back of his tunic and hauled him around.  She grabbed his left arm and threw him face down on the floor.  She pressed her foot into his back and wrenched his arm up painfully behind his back.  She glared down at him.

Everyone in the Hall froze.  No one seemed to know what to do or how to react.  Least of all the five other smiths.  Arya pulled at his arm.

“Give me a reason not to tear your arm off right now.” She growled.

“He’s a smith.  He needs both arms to work, Arya.” Gendry told her.

Arya looked up at him.  Her eyes hard.  “Is that right?”

“Yes!” Mr. Go-Fuck-Yourself cried against the floor.

“For your sake, I hope you are a really good smith.  I hope you can make twenty good swords a day.  I hope your work is nothing short of spectacular because if it’s not then I have no reason not to come back and rip your arm off.” She threatened.  “Now say you’re sorry.”

“Sorry!” The man gasped.

Arya tightened her hold on his arm for a half second before flinging it down onto the ground and stepping over him toward her siblings at the head table.  Gendry watched her intrigued.  She acted as if nothing had just happened.  He wondered if she might have done that more for him or if it really was because he’d rammed into her and called her a brat.  Either way, Gendry felt like kissing her.

“Can you go anywhere without making a scene?” Sansa hissed at her.

Arya frowned at her sister.  “I don’t know what you mean.  He started it.”

Sansa rolled her eyes.  Daenerys was smiling at Arya like she was the most entertaining person she’d ever seen.

“Are you finished here?” Arya asked Jon.

“We have a few more items to discuss, why?”

“Can you discuss them later?”

“Why?” Daenerys asked.  “Has something happened?”

“Brienne is back.”  Arya told them quietly.  If Gendry wasn’t still standing so close to them all, he might not have heard her.  “You need to clear the room.”

Jon nodded and stood.  “We need to finish here for today.  Return to your rooms and we will reconvene tomorrow.”

The lords and ladies began grumbling to one another.  Whispering speculation about what was going on now.  Gendry caught Arya’s eye.  She gave a small shake of her head and waved him away.  Gendry frowned and shuffled back to the smithy.  Arya would tell him later, he knew.  But he did hate being kept out of the loop like that.

Ser Davos caught him before he made it all the way outside.  He pushed a bowl of steaming stew into his hands along with half a loaf of brown bread.  He patted Gendry on the shoulder. 

“Go on, lad, back to work.”

“Thanks.” Gendry lifted the bowl to his lips and took a sip.  The warmth spread through his chest.  He sighed contentedly.

The other smiths were already back to work when he reached the smithy.  They looked at him curiously when he walked in, still chewing his brown bread.  Gendry stuffed the last bit of bread into his mouth before picking up his hammer and tongs and starting back to work.

The new smiths came in at sundown no less disgruntled than they had been that morning and afternoon.  Gendry watched them come in over the blade he was working on.  They didn’t look rested.  He worried about leaving them there alone.  He wouldn’t put it past any one of them to try something funny.

Gendry set down his hammer and tongs and walked over to them.  He was head of the forge, it was his job to make sure what they needed made got made.  Much as he wanted nothing more to do with the newcomers than was strictly necessary.  He wiped his hands down on his apron.

“Any of you good at making spearheads?” Gendry asked.

Six hard eyes stared back at him.  Not the least bit intimidating having been faced with Arya’s cold stare more times than he could count.  He arched a brow at them all, waiting for an answer from any of them.

One of the men cleared his throat.  “Yeah, I can.” He agreed. 

Gendry nodded at him.  “Good, we still need around six thousand.  Will makes them during the day.  He’s set up over there if you want to use his anvil.  You can see some of what he’s got done.  Don’t worry about fixing them to staffs, we have a group of women that are doing that and the arrow heads.  Which leads me to my next question; who’s good at arrow heads?”

“I’ll make ‘em.” Another smith volunteered.

Gendry nodded.  “You can set up beside him.” He pointed at the anvil beside the spear man.  Gendry turned and walked over to a cart of finished blades and withdrew a Dothraki blade.  He held it up to show the men.  “Anyone feel confident in making these?”

Mr. Go-Fuck-Yourself marched forward and snatched the sword out of Gendry’s hand.  He held it into the light and squinted at it.  Gendry frowned at the ornery man.  He could’ve let Arya break his arm earlier.  Ungrateful swine.

“We’re meant to be arming those foreign horse fuckers now?” He growled.

Gendry scowled at the man.  “You want to fight the White Walkers and win?  Or was losing your home not enough?”

Mr. Go-Fuck-Yourself shoved the sword back into Gendry’s hand and turned away.  “I can make it.” He snapped.

“Alright, the rest of you, we need as many swords as you can beat out.  Every soldier needs to be armed with a dragon glass weapon.  If they aren’t cut with dragon glass or Valyrian steel or burned, they won’t stop.  We don’t have Valyrian steel and our soldiers can’t breathe fire like the Targaryen’s dragons so dragon glass it is.”  Gendry decided against referring to Daenerys as the queen.  He knew the Northerners had mixed feelings about Jon bending the knee to her.  They already hated Gendry, no need to make them angrier.

Gendry stayed an extra hour or two while the men worked.  He checked on them once or twice just to make sure they weren’t struggling.  Once he was certain they were going to be fine without him, he pulled on his tunic and left for a few hours of sleep.

Arya was already in bed when he unlocked the door that night.  For a second, he thought she was asleep.  Then he saw her hand shoved under her pillow where she kept a spare knife.  She was awake and ready to kill any intruder.  Gendry kicked off his boots.

“Just me.” He whispered.  “Go back to sleep.”

Arya slid her hand back from under the pillow and rolled onto her back with a sigh.  “Don’t forget to lock the door.” She reminded him sleepily.

Gendry turned the lock and crossed to the fireplace.  He added a few logs before pulling of his shirt and pants and laying them on the floor beside the armchair.  He picked up a washcloth on the table beside the small wash basin and scrubbed some of the grime from his face and arms.  Arya hated when he filled her bed with ash and soot.

Adequately cleaned, Gendry finally crawled into the bed.  Arya reached over for him as soon as he sank onto the mattress.  Gendry pulled her over to him and sighed into her hair.  She laid her head on his chest and wrapped her arms around him.

“New people giving you trouble?” She asked through a yawn.

“No more than anyone else.”

She gave a small nod.  “Don’t like that old man.”

Gendry gave a small laugh.  “Me neither.”

“Should’ve let me break his arm.” She mumbled.  “Teach him some manners.”

“No, no.  Need the workers.” Gendry reminded her.  “Too many soldiers to arm.”

She let out a tired growl making Gendry smile.  “Less soldiers than we were expecting.”

“How do you mean?”

“Cersei lied.” Arya yawned again.  “I figured she lied.  She always lies.”

“The Queen?”

Arya nodded.  “Should’ve killed her when I had the chance.”

Gendry rubbed her back.  She was still wearing her undershirt and it bunched up under his hand.  Gendry kissed her hair.  “I’m sure you’ll kill her soon enough.”  He said reassuringly.

“Better be me.  Already lost out on Joffrey.”

Gendry smiled and shook his head, closing his eyes.  “Dead is dead, right?  You said that.”

Arya gave another growl.

“Alright, alright.  Go back to sleep.  I have to go check on the new smiths in a few hours.” Gendry yawned.

“Count yourself lucky.”

“Hm?”

“Two words; Lyanna Mormont.”

Gendry chuckled.  “Then it sounds like you need your rest.”

Arya’s arms tightened around his waist and she pressed herself more firmly against him.  “Least Brienne is back.  The Hound should not be allowed near women.”

Gendry smiled, but didn’t respond.  He was too tired to do much more than hold her a little tighter.  It must have been enough since she sighed contentedly into his chest and relaxed into him.


	15. Nightmares and Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya has a nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may wind up editing this chapter later. I just wanted to put it up quickly before I go back to work for the night.

Arya was walking back to Winterfell.  It had snowed while she was away and hers were the only footprints in the soft white blanket.  When she had left home all those years ago she had never dreamt of all the horrible things that would come to pass.  She thought her father and mother would always be around.  She thought Robb would eventually become Warden of the North and rule Winterfell.  She didn’t know what she had imagined for herself.  A knighthood perhaps.  They’d write songs about her and Nymeria to sing throughout the ages.

None of that ever came to pass.  Robb was dead just as her mother and father were dead.  She stopped at the gates with a frown.  They were wide open and unguarded.  Arya continued inside to find Jon or Sansa.  They should know about the flaw in their security.

Arya stopped in the middle of the yard.  It was just as empty as the gate.  No training, tanning, or smithing was taking place.  Not even the usual ting of Gendry’s hammer that always fell long after the sky was dark and the yard was empty.  Arya went to the smithy.  It, too, was completely empty.  Arya felt a panic beginning to rise in her chest.  She hurried to the Hall.  Maybe they had all gathered for some reason.

Arya threw open the door to an empty Hall.  She turned and sprinted up the stairs to Jon’s room.  Empty.  Sansa’s room.  Empty.  She was trying to force herself to calm down.  It was nothing.  Everything was fine.  They were just someplace she hadn’t checked yet.  She pushed Bran’s door open, not expecting him to be there, but he never was.

She went to the crypts.  Maybe they all needed to take cover someplace.  As she moved she considered her walk back.  Her footprints had been the only ones in the snow but they shouldn’t have been.  Tens of thousands of soldiers had set up camps around the castle.  Horses and dragons and warriors by the dozens should have been marking up the snow as it fell.

Where had everyone gone?  Why was she alone again?  She didn’t want to be alone again.  Arya was well and truly afraid now.  She felt hot tears spring in her eyes.  She took calming breaths.  She could not afford to break down.  She walked down into the crypts.  There was nothing there.  Nothing but dreadful silence.

Arya was about to turn back up the stairs when she caught sight of a shadow moving silently at the end of the way.  She settled her hand on Needle’s hilt and followed after the shadow.  Whoever or whatever it was, it meant she wasn’t alone and they might be able to tell her where everyone went.

The shadow rounded the corner and Arya hurried after lest it disappear.  It was still moving away.  She broke into a sprint in an effort to catch it, but it wove its way expertly through the crypts walkways.  She turned the final bend and saw the shadow standing still.  It was looking up at one of the statues.

“Hey.” Arya said, grateful her voice didn’t hold any of her fear.

The shadow turned to her slowly, the darkness melting back from it with every movement.  Arya locked her jaw to keep it from trembling.  Arya slid Needle partway from the sheath.  The shadow disappeared completely and Arya gasped in relief.  She ran to him and threw her arms around his neck.

“Gendry!  I was so worried!”

His arms were iron around her.  Comforting.  She buried her face into his chest.  He held her for a few moments before pushing her back.  She stared at him curiously.  There was something off about him.  She couldn’t decide what it was.  Everything about him looked the same.  Regardless, something in Arya’s gut was still twisting.

“Where has everyone gone?  Jon?  Daenerys?  Even Sansa disappeared.”  Arya asked, pushing away the doubt.

Gendry stared down at her.  His face was unusually empty.  Fear tightened in Arya’s throat.  Something was very wrong.  She took a half step back.  Then, Gendry smiled.

“We’re all waiting for you, Arya.” He told her.

“Waiting for me?”

“All of us.” He stepped forward and took her elbow gently.  “Don’t you want to see your family again?”

Arya tried to pull her arm away, but she couldn’t.  She wanted to run, but her feet wouldn’t move.  Gendry’s smile turned vicious.  Threatening.  He jerked his other arm forward and Arya looked down to see what had happened.  He pulled his hand back to reveal a blade now slick with her blood.

“Gendry?” She heard herself whimper.

“He was promised a name.” Gendry’s face hissed.

Arya reached up and pulled Gendry’s face away.  She whimpered when she saw Jon’s face.  She reached up and pulled it away.  She was sobbing now.  Sansa’s face, Bran’s face, Robb’s face, Rickon’s face, her father’s face and her mother’s face.  They all fell to the floor until Jaqen’s face was staring back at her.

“No!” She yelped.  “I quit!  I left!”

“We can never quit serving the Faceless God.” Jaqen told her simply.  “Valar dohaeris.”

“No!”

“The Faceless God demands death.” Jaqen continued.  “And a girl has seen so much.”

“Let me go!” Arya cried.  “Let me go!”

“Perhaps she has seen enough.”

Arya’s eyes went wide.  She struggled against him, thrashing and kicking, but he did not budge.  She screamed for help, but there was no one to come to her aid.  The torches in the crypt went out, shrouding Arya in darkness.  Then, Jaqen disappeared from her, too.  As much as he scared her, she wished he would come back.  If only so she wouldn’t be alone. 

Arya got to her feet and ran her hands up the walls.  She found a sconce and used it to hold herself upright.  She laid her hand over her stomach to staunch the bleeding.  She couldn’t remember all the ways she’d turned when she entered the crypt.  She didn’t know how to get back out in the dark.  Arya made to grab the torch from the sconce.  When she came to the next lit torch she’d relight the one that had gone out.

She just got it out of the sconce when she felt the heat from the flame.  The fire hadn’t gone out.  The crypt wasn’t smothered in darkness.  Her sight was gone again.  She was blind.

* * *

 

“Arya!” Gendry yelled, shaking her.  She was flipping back and forth between screaming and crying.  He shook her again.  “Arya, wake up!”

Arya opened her eyes at last.  She blinked at him and a whole new wave of fear took over her face.  Gendry reached up to cup her cheek.  He wanted to soothe her.  Whatever nightmare had taken her, it was over.  At least, he thought it was.

“No!” She yelped.  She reached out and pulled at his face.  Gendry pulled back, but she followed him, clawing at his face.  “No no no no no no.”

“Arya!  Arya, stop it!  Stop it’s me.  It’s Gendry.”  He pushed at her hands, trying to shove her away from him and protect his face at the same time.  “Arry!”

He trapped her wrists in one of his hands and pushed her back onto the bed.  She was shaking under him.  Tears fell down her face and sobs ripped through her chest like growls.  They’d been sharing her room for over a week at that point.  Neither of them slept much.  They were both up and out before the sun and back long after it had set.  In all that time, Gendry had never seen her like this.

“Arya, look at me.  Look!  You’re awake.  You’re at home.  It’s alright.”  He pushed her hair back from her face.  “You’re alright.”

Someone started banging on the door.  Arya’s shaking started all over again.  Gendry glared at the door.

“Arya?  Arya are you alright?” Jon shouted through the door.

Gendry was thankful he’d remembered to lock the door.  He focused on Arya.  She blinked at him through her tears.  He could see the last shreds of her nightmare leaving her.  He rested his forehead against her.

“Shh.” He soothed.  “I’m here.”

“Gendry.” She whimpered.

He let go of her wrists and pulled her into a hug.  She was sobbing and shaking again but this time it was from relief not fear.  Gendry pet her hair and rubbed her back.  

“I’m sorry.” She sobbed.  “I didn’t know it was really you.”

“Shh, it’s alright.”

And then it wasn’t alright.  Because of course the Lord of Winterfell would have a key to every room.  And of course he would use that key if he heard his baby sister screaming and sobbing like she had been.

Jon stood in the doorway staring at them.  He had Longclaw in his hand.  Clearly he had assumed there was some intruder hurting his sister.  Gendry looked between the sword and its owner.  Arya still had her face buried in his neck.  He didn’t know is she knew Jon was there or not.

“What did you do to her?” Jon growled.

Arya stirred at her brother’s voice.  Gendry was glad she was wearing her undershirt.  She pushed herself out of Gendry’s arms and slowly turned to her brother.  She wiped her eyes.  She assessed her brother and rolled her eyes when she saw the sword in his hand.

“Put the sword away, Jon.” Arya told him, her voice giving away nothing of her earlier terror.

“I’ll put my sword away just as soon as he explains himself.” Jon answered, using Longclaw to point at Gendry.

“Get over yourself, Jon.  Put the sword away.” Arya said again.

“Are you naked?” Jon asked Gendry, horrified.

Gendry tucked the blankets around his waist.  He had no idea what to say.  He hadn’t worked out how he was going to tell Jon under normal circumstances.  He’d neglected to think about what to do in the event that Arya had a traumatic nightmare and summoned her lord brother to their room wielding a not unintimidating Valyrian steel great sword.

“I thought you were my friend.  I _trusted_ you.  And I find you here?  In my sister’s bed?”

“Jon.  Go away.” Arya ordered.

“I’m not going anywhere.”  To prove this, Jon shut the door.  He picked up Arya’s clothes and belt and moved them to the dresser so he could sit in her armchair.  “Alright.  I’m listening.”

“You aren’t actually.”  Arya pointed out.  “I told you to leave.  This isn’t leaving.”

“I’ll leave when he does.” Jon said, firmly.

“Well, Gendry’s not going anywhere.”

Gendry was still working through what he could possibly say.  He wondered if he’d get a funeral.  Do they have funerals for executed people?  Or are their bodies just tucked away into a ditch somewhere?  If he didn’t kill him, Jon might send him to the Wall.  From head smith to White Walker fodder.  And his face stung from where Arya had scratched him.

“When you met you acted like you hated him.” Jon told her.  “You always looked down at stuff like this.”

“I was ten.  And you weren’t even there when I met Gendry.”

“I introduced you less than a month ago!” Jon argued.

“I’ve known Gendry for years!” Arya yelled back.  “Way longer than you have!”

Jon looked over to Gendry again.  He curled his legs up to his chest and wrapped both hands around the back of his head.  He hadn’t had a worse time in bed since Melisandre had put a leech on his cock.

“What is she talking about?” Jon demanded.

Gendry rubbed his head and squeezed his eyes shut.  “I left King’s Landing with her after your father’s execution.” Gendry admitted.

It was quiet.  Gendry peeked up at his friend.

“When was somebody going to tell me this?” He shouted.

Gendry winced.  “Well it’s just been a bit chaotic, hasn’t it?  The army of the dead coming and all.”

“Why wouldn’t you tell me you knew my sister when we met at Dragon Stone?”

Gendry looked over at Arya.  Her arms were crossed over her chest and she was glaring hard at her brother.  Gendry sighed.

“I thought she’d been killed at the Red Wedding.  Didn’t want to bring her up, ‘cause I didn’t want to be reminded she was dead.  By the time I found out she was here it felt like it was too late to tell you the truth.”

“And you just played along?” Jon asked Arya.

“I didn’t think it was any of your business.” She said evenly.  “I still don’t.”

“Were you _at_ the Red Wedding?” Jon asked her.

Arya gave a small nod.  “I was and I wasn’t.  The doors were already locked when we got there.  I saw them kill Grey Wind.  I saw them parade Robb’s body around with Grey Wind’s head sewn on top.  But the Hound grabbed me and took me away before anyone could see me.”

“ _The Hound_?”

“I didn’t get all the way to the Twins alone did I?” Arya grumbled.  “Beric and Thoros didn’t even tell me about the wedding.”

“Is that why you’re so angry at Lord Beric?”

Arya scowled.  “I’m angry at Beric because he sold Gendry to that witch.”  She corrected.  “And they were planning on selling _me_ back to Robb and mother before I ran away.”  She paused to consider something.  “And they sold Hot Pie to the inn keep at the Crossroads.  Sort of.”

“Beric can cook?” Jon mused.

“What are you talking about?  Hot Pie.  Beric and Thoros sold Hot Pie to the inn keep.”

Gendry cleared his throat.  “He was a friend of ours.” He explained.

 “Was there anybody _else_ involved?  Did Davos know about this, too, then?” Jon asked.  “Because he only told me Melisandre was planning on killing you.”

“Davos didn’t know I knew Arya until a few days ago.” Gendry explained.  “He didn’t meet me until I was in the Dragon Stone dungeons.  After we’d been separated.”

“So you won’t marry my sister, but you’ll bed her?” Jon demanded before wincing as if he’d offended himself.

“I told you I didn’t want to marry Sansa.” Gendry reminded him.

Jon frowned and leaned back in the armchair.  “But if I’d asked you to marry Arya you would’ve agreed?”

Gendry thought for a minute.  He’d follow Arya to the ends of the world.  He loved her more than he’d ever loved anyone.  But he knew her almost as good as he knew himself.  Maybe even better than he knew himself.  He shook his head.

“No.”

“No?” Jon repeated.

“Not because I wouldn’t want to, mind.  But I wouldn’t want to force Arya into marrying me if she didn’t want to.”  Gendry looked Jon in the eyes.  “I don’t think that would work out well for anybody involved.”

He glanced over at Arya.  She was smiling into the blanket on her lap.  Gendry smiled, too.  Jon did not smile.

“Well, whatever this is is over now.”  Jon said, standing up.

“What?”

“And _you_ ,” Jon pointed Longclaw at Gendry again, “are lucky I don’t turn you into one of Daenerys’ Unsullied.”

Arya stood up out of bed and padded over to her dresser.  She slipped her dagger from the sheath on her belt and marched over to Jon.  She stood between Gendry and Jon.

“I’ve told you twice now, Jon.  Go away.  Go back to Daenerys.  You’ve been gone from her bed for a while and I’m certain she’s wondering where you are.” Arya told him in a voice that was much too calm.  “But if you want to talk castration, I have a bit of experience.  You see, when I killed Black Walder and Lothar I couldn’t just let them die mercifully.  They killed Robb and mother after all.”

Jon looked down at her.  His black brows wrinkled.  “You?”

“Me.”

Jon frowned in thought.  Then he looked up at Gendry.  “Did you know?”

Gendry took in Jon’s baffled face.  Like Arya had told him something unbelievable.  Like she was secretly the Night King the whole time.  He knew he shouldn’t, but a laugh bubbled up through his lips.  By the gods, _he’d_ given Arya her first sword.

“Arya, tell Jon how many people you’ve killed.” Gendry suggested, trying to tamp down his giggles.

Jon looked back down at her.  Arya raised her brows and shrugged.  Jon brought his free hand to his mouth and pulled at his chin.

“If you doubt me, you can always talk to Bran.”

“And you pick him over me?  I’m your brother.”  Jon argued.  “You’d cut me?”

“Only if you hurt him.” Arya set the dagger aside again.  “I’m sure you would do the same for Daenerys.”

Jon lowered Longclaw again.  “You keep bringing up Daenerys.” He said.  “Who said anything about me being with Daenerys?”

Arya arched her brow at him.  “Jon.  Nobody else calls her Daenerys.  Not even her best friend.”

“So everybody knows, then?” Jon muttered.

“Not everybody.  Ned Umber probably thinks you’re just good friends.” Arya offered.  She patted his shoulder.  “Now, for the last time, get out of my room.”  She pushed him toward the door.

Jon went at last.  Gendry didn’t relax until he heard Arya click the lock shut. 

“I’m a dead man.” He declared.

Arya smiled and slid back into the bed.  “I told you I’d protect you.”  She leaned over and kissed him.

“I would’ve gotten up to help, too.” He told her, kissing her back.  “Just, I’m naked and I feel like if Jon actually _saw_ ….” Arya kissed his neck.

“Mhm.” She agreed.

“Plus, no reason to give him easy access what with that sword in my face and all.” Gendry continued.

“Gendry,” she said, kissing his chest.

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

“Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this reveal wasn't a disappointment. I know a lot of you were looking forward to it.


	16. Histories and Coming Clean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon demands Answers from Arya.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's so late!! I had to work another double and didn't have time to post.

Jon had always admired Arya.  It was a strange thing to say about his little sister, but it was true.  Arya had a way with people that he never had.  More than Robb or Sansa even.  During his long nights on watch at Castle Black, Jon would think about his family.  He would think about his father and brothers and even Catelyn on occasion.  Whenever he started to feel lonely or isolated, he always remembered Arya.

Jon didn’t know many girls.  There were a few in Winter Town he’d met when he would go off with Theon on Robb.  There was Sansa and Lady Stark and, of course, his sisters’ Septa.  Until he met Ygritte, he thought Arya was the only girl in all of Westeros that would rather hold a bow than a handkerchief. 

Their father had said she was the dead spit of their Aunt Lyanna.  Ned Stark didn’t often speak of his sister.  When he did, it was almost always because of something Arya had done.  When he saw her practicing in the yard with a bow, he mentioned how like Lyanna she was.  When Arya would get upset because some of the other girls had said she was ugly sat next to Sansa, their father would tell them about Lyanna’s beauty.  How Arya looked so much like her.  Jon never knew his aunt, but he felt as if he did just by knowing Arya.

When Sansa had sent the raven to him at Dragon Stone telling him their sister was alive and well, Jon wanted to jump on the first ship home.  He longed to see her grinning face.  He must have imagined seeing her a thousand times between receiving the letter and returning to Winterfell.  In most of his daydreams, he would see her running at him, grinning like mad.  Her messy braids would fly out behind her, her dress would be bunched up in one hand so it didn’t trip her as she ran.  In all of them, she threw herself up into his arms just like she had the night before they left Winterfell.

But the Arya he left and the Arya that had returned to Winterfell were completely different.  She was grimmer.  Her smile so rare he couldn’t remember seeing it more than once or twice and it was always empty.  She was colder.  Angrier.  She had left Winterfell a little girl still dreaming about the world with wonder and excitement.  Now, she had apparently seen enough of the world to see how broken it really was.

Jon wanted Arya to be able to protect herself.  He thought Needle would be something fun for her the way sewing dresses was for Sansa.  He never expected her to use it the way she had.  To kill people.  Well, maybe he expected it to be used that way, it was a sword.  He never thought she’d use it as anything other than a last resort.

When Sansa had told him about Petyr Baelish, Jon could hardly believe it.  He was glad the man was dead.  He never liked the guy and trusted him about as far as he could spit.  Jon had to admit that _he_ had wanted to be the one to kill him.  But Arya had done it and if the lords and ladies’ words were anything to go by, she had been ruthless in her execution.  Just as ruthless as she had been when she killed that horse lord.

Standing in the hallway outside her door, Jon realized he no longer new a thing about his sister.  Ygritte’s words came back to him as they did so often, _You know nothing, Jon Snow._   Arya had mentioned her past with Lord Beric and Jon knew it was a tumultuous one.  He didn’t imagine Gendry would’ve had anything to do with it.  Or the Hound for that matter.  All the men that he’d trusted enough to go with him beyond the Wall had kept news of his sister from him.

Beric had at least told him that he would not divulge Arya’s secrets.  If she hadn’t told Jon their history, he wouldn’t go against her.  He had also implied that he had done enough to wrong her all those years ago.  No matter how much Jon pressed, Beric refused to answer. 

“Thoros was always better at stories than I am.” He’d said.

The Hound Jon couldn’t fault.  The big brute wasn’t so much secretive as he was reclusive.  He stayed to himself for the most part.  The only person he spoke with regularly was Beric.  Jon hadn’t ever asked the man if anything had happened between him and his sister.  He hadn’t thought to.  In all the times he had wondered where Arya had gone and what had happened to her, Sandor Clegane had never entered his mind.

Jon heard a thud from the other side of Arya’s door.  He turned back, his fist tightening on Longclaw.  Then, he heard Arya laughing.  _Laughing_.  Jon’s throat tightened.  She had treated him with nothing short of hostility since he’d seen her.  She was respectful, but distant.  Never saying too much or staying near him for any longer than she had to.  Anytime he tried to get her talking, she’d find some excuse to get away from him.  He just wanted to laugh with her again like they had when they were children.  Now she was laughing with some other guy.

“No!  No, it’s cold!” She yelped.

“You pushed me first.”

He heard them btoh laughing together.  Jon wanted to break down the door and take Gendry’s head from his shoulders.  Then he shook himself.  He didn’t want to kill Gendry.  He was a good fighter and a greater smith and if it hadn’t been for him, there was no way he’d have made it home to see Arya again.  He was jealous of the boy.  Arya shared things with him.  Told him her secrets.  Laughed with him.  She clearly trusted him more than she did Jon.

Jon took a deep breath and walked back down the hallway to his room.  Why wouldn’t she tell him she was at the Red Wedding?  Why wouldn’t she talk to him about where she’d been?  Sansa had mentioned something about training with Faceless Men to be an assassin.  Jon didn’t know what that was supposed to mean and Sansa didn’t know enough herself to explain it.  What he did understand was that his baby sister was a killer now.

She tortured and murdered Walder Frey’s sons and gloated about it.  From the way she’d looked, Jon had to guess she had enjoyed it.  He reached his bedroom door and remembered what it had been that had sent him to her room in the first place.  She’d woken him up screaming all the way down the hall.  At first, he had thought someone was actively trying to murder her.  Now, he realized it had been a nightmare.

What manner of atrocities had she borne witness to that caused so much terror?  Jon had thought Arya dead for years.  No one saw her or heard of her in all that time before she showed up back in Winterfell.  At least, he _thought_ no one had seen or heard of her.  As it turned out, three of his men had spent a fair amount of time with her during those years.  And none more than Robert Baratheon’s bastard.

Jon opened the door and settled Longclaw back in the sheath.  Daenerys slept soundly, unaware that he had been gone at all.  Her silver hair turned orange in the light from the fire.  Jon rubbed his eyes and sank back onto the mattress.  She stirred slightly.  Jon reached out and brushed his fingertips against her bare shoulder.  She took a sharp breath and opened her eyes at him.

She frowned.  “What’s happened?”

Jon shook his head.  “Nothing you need to worry about.”

She sat up, the blankets fell away, baring her perfect breasts to him.  He kept his eyes trained on her face.  His mind went back to Gendry in his sister’s bed.  He just _knew_ the bastard was naked beneath those blankets.  Naked and in bed with his _sister_.  Daenerys laid her hand on his cheek, calling him back to her.  He could understand how she managed to control those dragons of hers.  One touch soothed the monstrous rage away.

“Tell me.” She said.  “Where did you go?”

“I heard my sister screaming.”

“Which sister?  Sansa?”

Jon shook his head.  “Arya.  I thought someone was trying to hurt her.”

Daenerys’ fair brows pulled together.  “But no one was.  Right?  Your sister’s fine.”

“She was having a nightmare.” Jon drew his knee up and rested his chin on his arm.  “But she wasn’t alone when I got there.”

“Oh?  Was it Gendry that was with her?”

Jon looked at her bewildered.  “You knew?”

Daenerys smiled.  “You’d have to be an idiot not to see it.  Especially with the way she was hugging and laughing and crying that first night in the Hall.”

Jon gaped at her.  “What first night in the Hall?”

Daenerys thought for a second.  “I think maybe that happened after you stepped out with Lord Beric.”  Daenerys shrugged.  “I thought she didn’t like me at first.  I knew Sansa didn’t, but Arya I couldn’t quite figure out.  She was so angry with everyone.  Much different from how you described her.  She didn’t smile a single time and she didn’t want to talk with me though you said she loved to hear everyone’s stories.  You did say you thought she was dead, so I assumed something horrific had happened to her.  I didn’t think I’d ever see the little sister you told me about.  When Gendry came in she turned into exactly who you described.  I could see exactly who she used to be.”

Jon shut his eyes and turned his head away.  Daenerys shifted in the bed until she was reclined against the pillows.  Jon could feel her watching him.

“She kept saying, ‘You’re alive.’  Like she couldn’t believe it.  Sansa says they didn’t separate by choice.  At least, according to Gendry.  Don’t you wonder how she came to be all alone?  You told me Arya could make friends with anyone.  Sansa says she came back to Winterfell on her own.  Doesn’t that make you curious?”

“Of course it makes me curious!  Everything about her has made me curious since the second I saw her.  But it doesn’t matter, does it?  Because she won’t talk to me!  She won’t tell me a thing.  _You_ know more about her now than I do.”  Jon squeezed his temples with one hand.

“It wasn’t easy for me, either.  She more skittish than a spooked mare.  And just like with a spooked mare, you have to gain her trust before she’ll let you close.”  Daenerys suggested.

“Is that what you did?” 

Daenerys nodded.  “You told me she liked dragons.  So I took her to see my dragons.  She’s been a lot easier to talk to since then.  Offer something of yourself before you try to interrogate her.”

Jon groaned.  “I have no secrets to tell her that she doesn’t already know.”

Daenerys frowned.  “None?  You told her about this?” She gestured between them.

Jon shook his head.  “Didn’t have to.  Apparently everybody already knows.”

Daenerys’ frown deepened.  “Well, what about you being stabbed in the heart?”

Jon sighed.  “The first day I saw her again, she looked me in the eyes and said, ‘You’ve seen him, haven’t you?’”

“You’ve seen who?”

“That’s what I asked.  At first I thought she meant the Night King.  But she says, ‘The god of death.’  Said it was something in my eyes.  She said she saw the same look in Beric’s eye, but I never would have guessed Beric had been killed and brought back just by looking at him.  So I have nothing to tell her that she doesn’t already know.”

Daenerys was quiet for a while.  “Maybe you could tell her about Gendry?”

Jon gave her a puzzled look.  “She already _knows_ Gendry.  She’s known him longer than anyone else here.”

Daenerys nodded.  “That’s true, but _she_ didn’t go beyond the Wall with him, did she?”

“What am I meant to tell her?  She knows he saved all of our lives by getting that raven to you.  What else can I say?”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

* * *

 

Jamie Lannister was helping Brienne train the girls.  He was down to one hand and it wasn’t his good hand.  Podrick could best him in a match.  Arya instructed the girls on their archery.  They had improved a great deal in the few weeks they had been training.  She watched them knock their arrows and called out when one of their elbows were too low or when their grip was wrong.  Mostly, she watched the new patrol of guards between the training yard and the forge.

She knew why they were there.  She knew who had ordered them to be there.  She also knew that Jon was a million times stupider than Gendry if he thought a few extra guards were going to stop her from seeing Gendry whenever the hells she wanted to.  And she knew a few choice words she had for her brother if he kept up the charade.

Someone cleared their throat behind him.  From the heavy pattern of the breathing and the smell of seafood, Arya knew it was Ser Davos.  “Excuse me, M’lady.  Lord Snow would like to see you.”

“Lord Snow would do well _not_ to be seen by me at the moment.”

Ser Davos shuffled his feet in the snow.  “Be that as it may, he still wants to talk with you.  He’s up in his rooms.”

“Keep your elbow high.” She called out to one of the girls.  Ser Davos shivered behind her.  Arya groaned and waved over Brienne.

“Has something happened?” Brienne asked.

“I need to leave early.  Does the Kingslayer know archery?”

Brienne frowned at her.  “Of course.  I can send him over to keep an eye on them.”

“Make sure to tell him if I come back and find any one of them with any bad habits I’ll be taking his other hand.”  Arya warned.

Brienne glanced at the man over her shoulder.  He caught her eye and arched a brow curiously.  Brienne looked back at Arya with a grimace.  “I will make certain he knows, M’lady.”

Arya nodded.  Ser Davos led the way up to Jon’s room though she didn’t need the escort.  She knew where she was going.  She just didn’t know what she was going to do when she got there.  Yell?  Fight?  It was anybody’s guess.

Jon was sitting at his desk writing something when Arya walked in.  Ghost was laying at his feet.  He picked up his big, white head to look at her.  His red eyes stared through her and Arya was reminded again of Nymeria.  She watched Ser Davos pull the door shut leaving them alone together.  He should have been worried.  Anything could happen. 

“Have I ever told you about Ygritte?” Jon asked without looking up from his letter.

“You really haven’t told me much of anything lately.”

Jon paused and looked up.  He set his pen down and looked at her.  “I suppose you’re right.  But you always seem to know more about me than I do about you anyway.”

“I’ve been no less forthcoming than you have.” Arya walked over to the fireplace.  “I’m just a bit more perceptive I think.”

Jon nodded.  “That you are.”

“So?  Ygritte?  Some villain you slew beyond the Wall?  Some little girl you saved from White Walkers?”

Jon smiled.  “Neither.”  His eyes grew sad.  “Both.”  He shook his head.  “I didn’t slay her, but I am the reason she’s dead.  Part of the reason at least.  She was a wildling.  She could shoot an arrow through a rabbit’s eye from a hundred paces.  She was the first girl I ever loved and she died in my arms at Castle Black.”

Arya stared at her brother.  He stared down at his letter.  “I’m sorry.”

“You know Melisandre resurrected me.  Do you know how I died?”

“Did Ygritte put an arrow in you?”

Jon smiled again.  Back at some distant memory.  “She put three in me, actually, but no, that’s not what killed me.  Some of my brothers in the Night’s Watch didn’t approve of my relationship with the Free Folk.  They tricked me into going out in the yard and they stabbed me again and again and left me dead in the snow.”

Arya looked at his chest.  She could imagine the scars on his chest.  Like just as gruesome as her own.  Maybe even more so.  She touched her stomach.

“Being stabbed is never fun.” She offered.

Jon blinked at her.  “Have you…?”

Arya gave a small smile and nodded.  “I survived, though.  Sometimes I think I shouldn’t have.”

“Why do you say that?”

Arya shrugged.  “You don’t think you should’ve been brought back.  You didn’t want to be at least.”

“No, I didn’t.  But I am glad I was.  If not, Sansa would have been sent right back to Ramsay Bolton.  Bran would have gone back to Winterfell and been killed by that psychopath.  _You_ … I don’t know.  I never would have seen you again, that’s for sure.  I never would have heard that you weren’t dead.  Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing.  Being brought back.”

“I don’t think I was worth it.  Maybe it would have been better for everyone to keep thinking I was dead.”

“You don’t really think that, do you?”

“I know I’m not who you remembered.  Or who you expected me to be.”

“You’re right about that.  I was still picturing that grinning goofball who used to follow me and Robb around.”  Jon shook his head again.  “You don’t smile anymore.  You used to make friends with everyone.  Highborn, lowborn, and anyone in between.  There was a time when you knew every soul in Winter Town by name.  What changed all that?”

Arya sat in the chair opposite Jon.  She stared out the window at the murky sky.  The heavy clouds twisted around each other fighting for more space in the sky.

“Do you remember Yoren?  He was on the Night’s Watch.  He was down in King’s Landing to gather more recruits for the Wall.  He found me at Father’s execution.  Took me away before the King’s Guard could find me.  I liked Yoren.  He was nice.  At least he was nice to me.  Even nice to Gendry.  So nice that he died to protect us.

“Lommy wasn’t particularly nice.  He was mostly whiny.  He and Hot Pie complained a lot.  But he was still just a boy.  That didn’t stop Polliver from spearing him through the throat with Needle.”  Arya let out a slow breath and collected herself.

“We were taken to Harrenhal after Yoren was killed.  Me, Gendry, and Hot Pie.  We were chained up in a pen with twenty other prisoners and every day they picked out one of us and tortured us until we died.  Young people, old people, mothers, children, it didn’t matter.  And there was nothing I could do to stop it.  I had no weapon.  Nothing to give that might save anyone.  I wanted to be brave and save them, but if I let them kill me it would have changed nothing and somebody else would’ve been killed the next day.  So I kept my mouth shut and watched as they tortured and killed all those people.”

Arya squeezed her eyes shut and tried to forget the horrible screams.  The sounds of people begging, _pleading_ for their lives.  The memory of Gendry in that chair.   “Then they took Gendry.  They strapped him into that chair.  They were going to kill him.  All those days I thought there was nothing I could say or do…. I finally thought of something I could say.  I had my name.  The Lannisters were still looking for me.  I thought maybe if I told them who I was I could save Gendry at least.”

“You told them you were Arya Stark?” Jon said, quietly.

Arya shook her head.  “I didn’t have to.  Tywin Lannister came back before they could start on Gendry.  He put us all to work.  He made me his cupbearer.”  Arya swallowed hard.  “He didn’t know me.  Didn’t know my name.  But he would talk about Robb and it would take everything in me not to stab him in the eye.

“Jaqen H’Ghar got us out of Harrenhal.  I saved him when the Lannisters killed Yoren.  He wanted me to go with him then, but I needed to find Robb and mother.  I needed to help save Sansa.  So I stayed with Gendry and Hot Pie and we started north.  Except Gendry is terrible with directions and we ended up going west.  That’s when Thoros and and Lord Beric found us.  They gave Hot Pie to the lady at the Crossroads.  She said he was payment for all the free meals she’d given them.  Then they took us back to their hideout with the Hound.  That’s where I saw Thoros bring Beric back from the dead.

“I didn’t trust them after they planned to sell me back to Robb and mother, but I _hated_ them when they sold Gendry to Melisandre to be killed.”

“Melisandre?” Jon repeated.

“I didn’t know that was her name until Gendry told me.”

“So you met her?”

“And I’ll meet her again.”  She frowned out the window again.  “She promised.”

“So the Faceless Men?”

Arya covered her stomach again.  She wasn’t ready to tell Jon everything.  She hadn’t expected to tell him as much as she had.  She stood up.  Jon would keep asking questions and she would keep answering.  Right up until she said too much.

“I don’t have time for this.” She said.

“No, don’t walk away now.” Jon argued.  “I want to know about the assassins.”

“I want my mother and father back.  I want Robb and Rickon back.  I want everything back the way it was before Father agreed to be Hand of the King.” Arya snapped.  She left quickly, before Jon could do much more to stop her.  She didn’t stop until she reached the Godswood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow's the day!!!!!!!!!!!!


	17. Preparations and Fears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon tries (and fails) to keep Arya and Gendry apart.

Gendry’s back hurt.  He could barely keep his eyes open.  Walking up the staircase felt like running back to Eastwatch all over again.  In a word, he was exhausted.  One of the new Karhold smiths had tried doing something Gendry didn’t care to listen to and ended up pouring a bucket full of embers across the floor.  They went out, thankfully.  The fire couldn’t outmatch the cold that had settled in, but it meant Gendry had to stay for an extra hour.

Someone’s arm was blocking his path.  Gendry squinted up at the owner.  It was one of the Dothraki.  Gendry yawned and raised his hands, palms up, in a _what gives_ gesture.  The man said something in Dothraki that Gendry had no hope of translating and pointed back down the stairs.  Gendry teetered on the step.  Gendry pointed past him into the hallway.

“I need to get over there.” He said.

The Dothraki didn’t budge.  Gendry sagged against the wall and yawned again.  He was on the verge of falling asleep where he stood.  The Dothraki stared down at him hard.  Gendry shut his eyes.  He was just going to rest them for a second or two.

“Gendry?”

He opened his eyes and squinted at Sansa.  He pushed himself off the wall and stood up as straight as he could manage.  He really had only shut his eyes for a second.  He just didn’t know what Sansa was doing walking down the stairs so late.

“Lady Stark, you’re out late.”

“No later than you.”  She looked between him and the Dothraki guard.  “What are you doing here?”

“Trying to get to bed.” He mumbled.  Jon already knew about him and Arya, would her sister be worse?

“Bed?  Up here?” She clarified.

Gendry nodded.  “This one won’t let me through.”

Sansa looked at the Dothraki and made a small, flicking motion with her hands.  The man scowled at her, but moved as he was told.  Sansa took Gendry by the arm and pulled him up the stairs.  Gendry sniffled and looked over at Sansa curiously.

She led him to Arya’s door and knocked sharply.  Gendry was too tired to argue.  He leaned his head against the wall and let the Lady of Winterfell do as she pleased.  He hadn’t gotten near enough sleep the night before.  He just wanted a bed.  Any bed at that point.

The door opened and Arya glared out into the darkened corridor.  “Do you have any idea what time it is?” Arya demanded.

“I think this belongs to you.” Sansa said, tugging at Gendry’s arm.

Arya looked Gendry up and down then turned her eyes back to her sister.  “Did you get him drunk again?”

“No!  I found him like this.  The guards wouldn’t let him past on the stairs.”

Gendry pushed his way into the room and started pulling off his tunic and undershirt.  He did a half-arsed job of washing the ash from his face and arms.  The sisters could argue without him.  He kicked his boots off next to Arya’s and dumped himself into the bed.

“He seems quite at home here.” He could hear Sansa whispering.

“Good night, Sansa.”  Arya shut and locked the door.

Gendry could hear her moving around.  He couldn’t open his eyes anymore.  He just wanted to sleep.

“Are you drunk?” Arya asked.

“Mm mm.”

“Really?”

“Please, I just need sleep.”  He yawned.

Arya crawled into the bed beside him.  “Did Jon talk to you today?”

“Arya,” he whined.

“Fine.  Tomorrow then.”

Gendry grunted his response.  He was asleep in seconds.

He woke up to Arya staring at him from the chair by the fire.  She was still in her undershirt.  One knee was pulled up to her chest and her arms were wrapped loosely around it.  Her other foot rested on the ledge of the fireplace.  Dangerously near the flames.  Gendry yawned and sat up.

“What time is it?” He asked, shoving his fingers into his eyes to dispel the last remnants of sleep.  She glanced out the window.  The sky was already a light grey.  Gendry leapt to his feet, flinging the blankets aside.  “Shit.  I’m late.  Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“You need to sleep, Gendry.”  Arya told him calmly. 

Gendry hunted for his shirt.  He couldn’t remember where he’d thrown it last night.  He barely remembered making it into the bed last night.  “Where’s my damned shirt?”

“Would you sit down?” Arya bemoaned.

“I have work to get to.  I’m late enough as it stands.”

“Have you seen yourself lately?” Arya asked.

Gendry straightened up.  He saw his shirt and tunic lying folded on the dresser.  He picked up his undershirt and turned it in his hands.  Arya was out of her chair and pulling the fabric away from him the same second.

“Gendry, you’re going to kill yourself if you don’t slow down.” She said.

Gendry reached for the shirt in her hands.  “I’ll be fine.  We don’t have time for this.”

“The only thing you’re doing today is inventory.  Sansa and Jon need a complete list of all the dragon glass weapons we have to distribute.”

Gendry stared down at her.  “Somebody else can do that.”

“You’re head smith.  You have to do it.”

“I can’t do it, can I?” Gendry demanded, bitterly.  “Can’t write a list of things.”

Arya pushed him into the chair by the fire.  “I know.  That’s why I’m going to help you.”

“You have training.”

“Brienne has Jamie and the girls are far enough along that they don’t need me babysitting them every step of the way.”  Arya insisted.  She sat on Gendry’s lap, keeping him in the chair.  “Your smiths know what they’re doing by now.  They can manage one day without you.”

“Fine.  We’ll do inventory then.  We still have to go to the armory.”

Arya shook her head.  “First, you’re going to sleep a few more hours.  Then, you’re going to eat breakfast.  I’ll make sure to find you an apple or something sweet.  But you aren’t going anywhere until then.”

Gendry rolled his eyes.  “I don’t need to sleep anymore.  I already overslept.  I’m awake now.  You want to eat breakfast?  Let’s get breakfast.  You want to do inventory?  Let’s go do it.  I don’t need any more sleep.”

Arya tucked her fingers into his hair and kneaded at his scalp.  She laid her other hand on his cheek.  Gendry was suddenly very warm.  He moved his hands from his knees to her thighs.  She brushed her thumb across his cheek.

“Gendry?” Arya said on a whisper.

“Yes?” He whispered back.

“Do you remember that we’re in Winterfell?”

“Yes?”  This was not going where he thought it was going to go.

“Do you also remember that I’m a lady of Winterfell?”

“Yes?”

“Well, I may not be the most refined lady in Westeros, but I do know that that means you have to do as I say.” She grabbed his hands off her thighs and stood, jerking him back out of the chair and shoving him towards the bed.

“The word Lady is very loosely attached to you.” He grumbled.

She pushed him face first into the bed and waited until he right himself on the mattress.  Then, her hands were on his face again, stroking his cheeks softly.  Gendry stared at her.  Another man might have continued to argue with her.  Another man probably wouldn’t have survived ten minutes with Arya Stark.

“Gendry, if you stop trying to leave, I’ll stay in bed with you.” She bargained.

Gendry smiled and pulled at her wrist until she was sprawled on top of him.  He pulled her face up and kissed her deeply.  Arya melted into him.  He could stay in bed all day if she stayed with him.

“Deal.” 

He rolled them over and kissed her again.  He pulled her shirt over her head and kissed her anywhere he could.  Arya turned from wolf to kitten beneath him.  She must have thought the same thing because she suddenly pushed him back and kissed him.

“I want to be on top this time.” Arya declared.

She pulled at the ties on his pants and straddled his hips.  Gendry sat up quickly.  Arya frowned at him and pushed at his shoulder to get him to lie back down.  He wouldn’t budge.

“It’s fine the usual way, isn’t it?”

“Why are you being so weird?”

Gendry looked away.  Why was he being so weird?  He looked back at the fireplace.  _Oh_.  He thought.  _That’s how Melisandre did it.  When she’d tricked me._

“The red witch… she….  It’s fine.  I think I am actually still tired.”  Gendry picked Arya up and moved her onto the bed beside him.

“Did you just compare me to that witch?” Arya challenged.

“No.” Gendry said, quickly.  “Not on purpose at least.”

“You think _I’m_ going to strap you down and cover you in leeches?”

“Of course not.  It’s just not a very pleasant thing to remember, is it?” He said, turning away from her.

Arya’s hand was soft on his shoulder.  “You know I trust you.  More than just about anyone.”

Gendry rolled onto his back and laced his fingers through hers.  “I trust you, Arya.  I just don’t want to remember her when I’m with you.”

Arya smiled down at him.  “I don’t want you thinking about anybody else when I’m with you.”  She kissed him lightly.  “But I do understand.”

Gendry pulled her hand up so he could kiss her fingertips.  She pulled her hand away and sealed her lips over his.  Gendry set his hands back on her hips and pulled her over so she was straddling him again.  Gendry pushed her hair back out of her face with one hand and kept his other hand on her hip. 

Gendry sat up, keeping Arya fixed on his lap.  He pushed his pants down just enough to free himself.  Arya let out a small gasp and kissed him again.  “I love you.” Gendry told her, kissing her neck.

Arya kissed his ear, his cheek, his jaw, and finally landed on his mouth.  “I love you.”  She said between kisses.

Gendry woke again to a knock at the door.  Arya was already dressed right down to the sword and dagger on her hips.  He yawned and stretched, feeling his bones pop as he moved.  Arya had been right.  He did need the extra sleep.

Gendry stood up and fixed his pants before Arya opened the door.  He looked over and quickly away when he saw Sansa standing in the doorway.  He pulled his shirt on over his head and tucked it into his pants.

“He looks better.” Sansa said.

“He still needs to eat.”

“You need to eat too.  I’ve never met two people so self-destructive.”

“I’m going to eat.”

Sansa started to leave, but turned back around and leaned in to Arya.  “I think Jon might have figured you out.”

Arya nodded.  “He came barging in here the other night.” She admitted.

“He came in here?”

Arya nodded again.

Gendry couldn’t find his boots.  He knew he had taken them off near the wash basin, but they were gone.  He’d seen them earlier.

“Was he…?”  Sansa looked Gendry up and down.

“I took care of it.  Mostly.”

Sansa fidgeted with her hands.   “I suppose that would explain the trouble with the guards last night.  I wonder who told them.  The queen is very supportive of your relationship so I can’t imagine she would do anything to keep you two apart.”

“I’d have to guess that Jon had Jorah Mormont do it.”

Gendry cleared his throat.  “Have you seen my boots?”

Arya looked back at him.  She pointed to a pair by the fireplace.  Gendry picked them up and looked at them.  They were brand new and lined with fur on the inside.  They looked warm and expensive.

“These aren’t mine.” Gendry told her, assuming she’d mistaken her boots for his.

“Yes they are.  Just put them on.” Arya said over her shoulder.

“Are you coming down to the Hall now?”

“As soon as he gets his shoes on.” Arya agreed.

“Have you talked to Bran?”

“No?” 

“We need to start arming the soldiers.  The sooner we know how many weapons we have, the sooner we can start getting them in their hands.”

Gendry finished lacing up the boots.  They were remarkably soft.  Gendry had never worn anything so comfortable.  He took a few steps in them.  It astounded him to think that Arya went from such comfort to nothing and never complained about it once.  Gendry couldn’t imagine being born to such luxury and finding all of it ripped away one day without warning.

* * *

 

Bran had told Jon that morning that the Night King would arrive with his army in three days.  The Northern Lords had brought their armies to Winterfell along with all the spare dragon glass weapons they had had time to forge.  So far, they were the only men armed with weapons that would defeat the White Walkers.

Daenerys was steady as a rock through every war council meeting.  Even when Bran told her that her dragon had been turned by the Night King.  When he told her that the Night King rode Viserion and used him to burn Last Hearth to the ground, she didn’t even blink.  Jon kept waiting for her to break down into tears and weep over the fate of her ‘child’ but she never did.

Jon looked up when the doors opened and Arya walked in with Gendry trailing behind her.  Jon clenched his fist tighter around his cup.  He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he could see Arya’s face plain as day.  She rolled her eyes at him and nudged him in the ribs with her elbow.  They had the rapport that Jon once had with Arya.  Before she was laid witness to more death and violence in her young life than he had in his years at the Wall.

“Lady Arya!” Daenerys called. 

Arya looked up to the head table.  She had half a loaf of bread in her mouth.  She handed the rest to Gendry and stood up to greet the queen.  Jon watched Gendry take a bite of Arya’s bread.  He stood up and rounded the table.  He sat down in front of Gendry.

“How long?”

“What?” He asked around his mouthful of food.

“How long have you been….  You and my sister, how long?” 

Gendry choked down the food that was in his mouth.  “Uh, well, like I said the other night, we met when Yoren was taking me to the Wall and her back to Winterfell.  After Lord Stark was executed.”

“And the rest of it?” Jon insisted.

“Rest of what?” Gendry asked, confusion blatant on his face.  Though the boy often looked confused whenever he was outside of a smithy.

“How long have you been sleeping together?” Jon asked bluntly.  Then he regretted it.  Did he really want to know?

“Oh.  Well, we always slept together when we were traveling.  We had separate chambers when we were at Harrenhal, but after we escaped we stayed together.  Uh, the Brotherhood didn’t much care where we all slept.  I stayed close by her, though.  There was no disguising she was a girl by then.  Didn’t want any of those drunken idiots getting any ideas.”

“Not _sleeping_ , you idiot.  Sleeping.”  Jon said, resisting the profound urge to smack him.

Gendry turned an interesting shade of scarlet.  “Uh?”

“Out with it!” Jon demanded.

“C-couple of weeks?” Gendry answered, weakly.

“Couple of – and everybody knew?”

“No.  I don’t think so.  Davos knew, but only because he caught us.”

“Davos knew and didn’t tell me.”

“Arya threatened him a bit.”

“That’s no excuse.”

Gendry gave a shrug and looked over at Arya.  She was still talking to Daenerys, but she kept shooting warning looks at Jon.

“I don’t know.” Gendry said.  “She’s pretty scary when she wants to be.”

“ _I_ ’m scary when I want to be.” Jon asserted.

Gendry looked at Jon and smiled.  Jon wanted to punch him.  “Yeah, but of the two of you, she’s scarier.  Ask anyone around.  They’ll tell you.”  Gendry looked back at Arya again with a dopey smile.  “Even the Kingslayer’s scared of her.”

“He’s scared of me, too.”  Jon insisted.

Gendry shrugged, indifferently.  Jon glowered.

“ _You’re_ afraid of me.” Jon said.

Gendry looked at Jon, brows raised and eyes wide.  “Not for the same reasons.”

“What’s that mean?”

“You’re Arya’s favorite brother.”

That gave Jon pause.  Arya had always been his favorite sibling, but he had figured Arya was closer to Bran growing up.  Or Sansa more recently.  He knew she loved him.  They were siblings, same mother or not.  But she loved everyone.  She treated everyone the same.  No matter who they were. 

“She said that?”

“Well, no, not exactly.  She never said the words, ‘Jon Snow is my favorite brother’ but I could tell it when she talked about you all.  Mostly because she talked about you the most.  She told me about how you used to muss up her hair and call her ‘little sister’ and how you were the one that got your father to bring home the dire wolf pups.  And you gave her Needle.  For that alone she would lay a crown on your head.”

Jon frowned.  “She talked to you about me?”

Gendry laughed.  “Sansa said the same thing.  I don’t know why it surprises you.  She missed you.  If I had family and I was separated from them, I’d talk about them to anybody who would listen.”

“Why you?”

Gendry looked at Jon for a few minutes.  He picked up a cup of water and took a long drink.  “I guess of all those scary, dirty men being shipped off to the Night’s Watch, she needed someone to trust.  I guess she picked me.”

“Did she know you were Robert’s bastard?”

Gendry shook his head.  “I know what you’re thinking, but no.  Even I didn’t know that until Melisandre set out to have me sacrificed to her God of Light.”

Jon nodded.  Gendry was much more relaxed in the light of day than he had been the other night when he’d found them together in bed.  He knew he should be thanking Gendry.  If he hadn’t been with her that night, she would have been trapped in her nightmare for who knows how long.  Gendry had been the one to calm her down.  Jon was grateful to anyone that was able to do that.  No matter how jealous it made him.

“Just to be clear, you didn’t touch my sister before you arrived in Winterfell.”  Jon pressed.

“ _No_!” Gendry cried, clearly offended at the implication.

“Alright.  Just making sure.”  Jon stood up.  “Sansa tell you we need a count on the dragon glass weapons we have?”

“We’re heading to the armory now.” Arya told Jon, appearing beside him.

Jon tried to hide his surprise.  She had always been a quick little thing, but at least she used to make noise.  Now she was as quiet and quick as a shadow.  It was downright unnerving. 

“The both of you?”

“Yes.”  Gendry stood up and moved around the table to stand behind her.  “By the way, Jon, you can stop having the guards try to keep Gendry away from me or you can start explaining to the queen why your bed suddenly smells like shit.”  Arya arched a brow.  “How do you feel about fighting the Night King bare arsed in the dead of winter?”

Jon stared down at her devious little face.  He remembered the way she used to antagonize Sansa.  Arya knew more ways to torture someone than any highborn lady ought.  Her methods could have only gotten craftier.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”  Jon lied.

Arya rolled her eyes at him and stomped past.  Gendry gave Jon a small smile and trailed after her.  Of all the people Jon could have found in Arya’s bed, he supposed there were loads worse than Gendry.  At least he truly seemed to love her.  In the end, what more could a brother hope for his sister?

He just prayed they both survived the war.

* * *

 

They were better stocked than they thought.  In a month, they had managed to make enough spears for the entire Unsullied army.  They had nearly fifty-thousand dragon glass arrows.  They had enough swords to arm every Northerner and three-quarters of the Dothraki.  They were much better prepared than anyone thought they would be.

After Arya gave the list over to Jon, he immediately set to distributing the weapons.  Only then could she convince Gendry to go back to their room and rest.  Arya knew she would have to practice with the girls in the morning with the dragon glass swords.  They needed to get used to the weight just as much as she did.  And Gendry would go right back to the smithy first thing in the morning.

Three days.  That’s what Bran had said.  He couldn’t say whether they would win or lose.  He only told them what was coming.

Arya held Gendry tighter that night.  She kept her face buried in his neck and kept breathing in the smell of him.  She didn’t want to die, but living without Gendry seemed a worse fate than the most agonizing death. 

In the morning, they went their separate ways.  Him to the forge, her to the training yard.  She focused only on the swing of the swords.  The arch of the bow.  The quickness of her steps.  They could not afford to lose this fight.

Two days.  She went to Gendry at lunch.  She watched him hammer out a sword.  She made sure he ate. 

“I made something for you.” He told her.

“Is it a sword?”

“Better than a sword.”

Arya frowned.  What was better than a sword?  “What is it?”

Gendry walked away to the far corner of the forge.  He moved something around and finally returned with something in his hands.  He held it out to her.  She lifted the old shirt he was using to wrap the gift. 

“You made me armor?” She uttered.

“Promised I would, didn’t I?”

Arya threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.  She heard the other smiths coming back, but she no longer cared who saw.  Half of the men would likely be dead within the week.  Jon already knew.  What more was there to hide?

Any moment they had now, might be their last.  The thought terrified her, but she couldn’t make it go away.  Not even when he held her at night.  Not even when he kissed her so sweetly she could forget her own name. 

One day.  She made love to Gendry that morning.  She didn’t want to get out of bed.  As long as they stayed there, nothing bad could happen.  As long as they were together and he was kissing her and they were holding each other. 

She knew something was off about the day.  She could figure it out.  They dressed slowly.  They both felt it.  Something was different.  Something in the air.

“Why’s it still so dark out?” Gendry wondered aloud. 

Arya looked out the window.  The sky was a pitch black as it ever was.  There was no moon in the sky.  No stars.  Nothing but the inky blackness of the night.

Arya put on her new armor and followed Gendry out into the yard.  Jon and Sansa were already there.  Ghost was growling at the gate.

Everyone stood there, waiting for the sun to rise.  Waiting for any sign of normalcy.  Instead, the shriek of dragons filled the air and instead of joy and wonder, Arya felt nothing but cold, black terror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a fun run, guys! And by fun, I mean exhausting. I wrote almost 60,000 words in seventeen days. That's crazy. I'm off to watch the premier now!! Thank you all for reading this! I'm glad you enjoyed my self indulgent fantasies as much as I have!
> 
> I might come back at the end of the season and write more. We'll see how it goes! You can follow me on Tumblr https://www.tumblr.com/blog/heavenlydisaster for any info on new fics if you want! 
> 
> Thank you! I love you all!


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